


The Thief

by Whytewytch



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M, Love Triangles, Nottingham-Allan, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 79,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whytewytch/pseuds/Whytewytch
Summary: A female thief steals into Nottingham, annoys the Sheriff, fools them all. Occurs while Allan is at the castle, not necessarily in time with the show, though. Allan-girl-Guy triangle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally written in July of 2008. It was beta'd by 2-3 fabulous and knowledgeable betas (I was a lucky, lucky girl back then!). I have also run a weather eye over it a few times since. However, we are only human. If there are further errors, please know that I am an author who can handle con-crit, so don't hesitate to point things out. 
> 
> I am an Allan and Guy girl all the way, so if you're looking for Robin Hood in your Robin Hood fandom-based fic, this is not the story for you, and I am not the writer for you. There is a second novel of this series, with a 3rd sorrowfully abandoned many years ago that I will NOT post here until and unless I finish it. In the 2nd novel, there is a bit more Robin, and I took care to not treat him brutally, even though I'm not a Robin girl AT ALL. 
> 
> Also, if you're looking for smut, this one is not for you; however, I did stretch my smut muscles in Book 2 and in a few one-shots based on this series. 
> 
> This is a 48 chapter book, with close to 80K words. I will be posting one chapter per week, unless I become a victim to my blonde/senior moments and forget to post, or unless (knock wood!) something horrible happens to me or mine. So, Lord willing and the creek don't rise, you've got nearly a year of (hopefully) enjoyment from this story to look forward to. If you absolutely hate it, you've got years of enjoyment from other peoples works to look forward to. Again, knocking wood furiously.
> 
> Finally, I spelled Guy's family name with a "u" in it--I personally like how it looks. This is not a misspelling, but done purposefully.

Chapter One: Capture

The chains were heavy, rusted, and rubbed her wrists raw; her ankles at least had the leisure of being wrapped in the soft kid boots she had purchased only a few months earlier. She was covered in mud from her falls along the long trek back to Nottingham; her hair was disheveled and full of twigs, its color unrecognizable, and her nails were broken. The weight of the chains made walking difficult, pulling on her legs and drawing her shoulders down and back; she would have given anything to lie down and rest, but she refused to show weakness in front of her captors. She was angry right now—angry at the pain, angry at the condition of her clothes and hair, mostly angry that she had been caught. She never got caught.

"Come along, then, don't dawdle," sneered the guard at the other end of the chain, yanking on it cruelly. She raised her eyes and shot him a look full of hatred, a look that would have had a smarter man trembling in fear. This one just laughed and threw her down in front of the stairs leading into the castle; she landed on her knees in the still-drying mud of the courtyard. Another guard had gone on ahead to inform the sheriff of her capture and soon she heard his slippered feet whisper on the stairs, followed by the sound of many pairs of boots.

"Well, well, well. So this is the little horse thief who thought to take my best stallion, eh? What have you got to say for yourself, young man?" Vasey, the Sheriff of Nottingham didn't bother to hide his disdain. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet and leaned forward impatiently as he looked down upon the figure in the mud below him.

"Well?" he asked again. The day was chilly, the leaves blowing around the yard in the breezes that kicked up to make it colder. The sheriff had a warm meal waiting for him and this…person…was keeping him from it.

"Throw him in the dungeon until morning—we'll hang him then." He turned to make his way back to the hall, past his lieutenant, Sir Guy of Gisbourne and Guy's man, Allan A' Dale.

"But My Lord, she's a woman." The guard's voice stopped the sheriff in his tracks.

"A what?" Vasey turned slowly back to look upon the prisoner, leading with his bald head like a snake. "Stand up and let's have a look at you, shall we?"

He watched as the woman was yanked brutally to her feet by the guard after refusing to rise on her own. Her clothing was non-descript, although it did look to be more finely made than the clothing most peasants wore, her hair was unkempt, her head was bowed; probably out of fear, he thought and allowed himself a smug smile. He descended the stairs and walked around her, assessing, as Guy and Allan followed at a discreet distance. The sheriff came back to stand in front of her, Guy and Allan to his right, slightly behind him. He bent over to try to look at her face, but all he could see was dirt and matted hair.

"What's the matter, hmm? Shy?"

The sheriff's self-satisfied voice got on her last nerve and before he could react, she had used the guards who were holding her arms as leverage to kick up with both legs, dropping him instantly. The guards pulled her back quickly, and Guy jumped to the sheriff's side as Vasey writhed in pain, curled up in a fetal position. Guy called for more guards to help get the sheriff up; Allan stood in the background, an amused smile lighting his face. The sheriff's face however, was red, contorted in pain. When he spoke, he croaked only one word: "Dungeon."

Guy nodded, turning to yell at Allan, "Be sure this one gets to the dungeon. The sheriff will deal with her later."

Allan nodded. "Sure, Guy. I'll see to it."

He took the woman's arm and jumped back as a spark snapped between them. Allan raised an eyebrow, looking at her suspiciously as she glared back at him, blue eyes shooting fire. A shout from Guy had him reaching hesitantly for her arm again-she frowned at him but let herself be led. As they moved inside, out of the sun, the temperature dropped and she shivered violently as her wet clothes cooled on her body.

"Are you all right?" Allan asked solicitously. He tried not to notice the curves her wet clothes now revealed.

The woman nodded mutely, staring ahead.

Allan began to wonder if she was simple or if she had had her tongue cut out or what. She had yet to speak, even when asked a direct question.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust as they made their way down the stairs toward the dungeon. The air began to smell of wet stone, warm unwashed bodies, blood, urine, and feces. The smell was so strong, she was certain it would cling to her clothes if they walked back outside immediately.

As they met up with the jailor, Allan jerked his head slightly to the side to indicate he wanted to speak with him a moment. "Got an empty cell?"

The jailor, a greedy man with beady black eyes and only half of his teeth, looked at Allan expectantly. He scratched his flea-infested hair, then his chest. "I may have. What's it worth?"

Allan hadn't spent a single coin on anything other than a few things for himself since he had come to work for Guy. Eyeing the jailor maliciously, he reached into his purse and pulled out a gold coin. The jailor's eyes went wide as he saw the coin and he reached for it hungrily, but Allan jerked it away quickly.

"She stays alone in her cell. No one enters except me, Guy, or the sheriff. She gets decent food, clean straw and a clean blanket. Understood?"

Next to him, the woman looked at Allan suspiciously. Men weren't usually nice unless they wanted something from her. For now, she would accept his unsolicited kindness. She almost regretted that she would be gone when he came to collect his "payment." He had beautiful eyes that almost made her want to stay.

"If she gets all that, there'll be another one in it for you when she's gone. If not…" Allan looked at the greasy little man meaningfully.

"I got it. She'll be treated like a queen, she will. Queen o' the Dungeon." He laughed at his own joke as he put the girl into an empty cell and sent one of his underlings to fetch the items Allan had requested.

The woman continued to stare at the floor and Allan began to feel sorry for her, certain that her brain was addled. At least she would be comfortable until the sheriff ended her misery on the gallows. He wanted to ask her name, but what did it matter? She would be dead soon, and Allan would probably feel worse if he knew anything about her. He turned away, his expression troubled, and went back up to the hall to a dinner he didn't feel like eating anymore.

In the hall, the fire was roaring, but the room was still chilly from the damp outside. The sheriff paced angrily back and forth, growling and cursing, limping on occasion; backlit by the fire, he looked—and sounded—like a demon.

"I want her dead, Gisbourne, do you hear me?!" The whole town of Nottingham could probably hear him. "But first, I want her to feel pain. Days of pain, Gisbourne. Weeks. Months, even. Maybe I keep her around so that every time I want to beat you or one of your idiots," here he looked menacingly at Allan, "I beat her instead. Do you like that idea, Gisbourne? Eh? It'd certainly save you some pain."

Allan flinched at the venom in the sheriff's voice, recalling all too vividly the time not long ago, when he had been in the dungeon, tortured at Guy's hand. He was afraid of the sheriff, afraid to find himself back there, so it truly surprised him to hear his own voice speaking in the woman's defense.

"I don't know, Sheriff. I think she's addled."

The sheriff turned on Allan so quickly that despite the table and the years that separated them, Allan took a step back. "You think? You think? Well, of course she's addled! First she steals a horse right out of my stable and then she attacks my person! No sane person would do that!"

Spittle ran down the side of the sheriff's mouth and flecks of it punctuated his words. Allan could see Guy standing behind the sheriff, shaking his head at Allan in dismay, as if to say, "couldn't you have just left it alone?" A dog whined in fear and the sheriff laughed evilly at the sound.

"Yes. She'll be my bitch. Once she's been properly tortured and her spirit is broken, I'll put a collar around her neck and keep her on a leash. Then every time I want to kick someone, I'll kick her." He punctuated his words by doing just that to the unfortunate canine. "Maybe I'll even take her hunting or feed her table scraps." The sheriff's evil chuckle sent shivers down Allan's spine as the lord of Nottingham Castle suddenly plunked himself down in his seat and began tearing into his food with gusto.

Feeling nauseated, Allan excused himself and headed outside. Guy followed, afraid that Allan would do something stupid and then Guy would lose his right-hand man. Out in the courtyard, Allan stood with his eyes closed, breathing deeply, allowing the fresh air to revive him. He knew he could never go back to Robin—that much had been made clear to him on numerous occasions, but sometimes the sheriff's brutality repulsed him. He heard Guy's boots on the stairs a moment before he heard his voice.

"Allan."

"I don't get it, Guy. I ain't never seen him this mad, not even over Robin."

Gisbourne sighed. "The stallion she stole was to have been a gift to Prince John. The guards caught the girl, but not before she chased the horse away. He was wild, barely broken, so they couldn't catch him. He's gone now and the sheriff looks incompetent in Prince John's eyes. First Robin Hood, now this. And then when she attacked him…"

Allan nodded in new understanding. "That poor girl."

"Yes, well. You'd do well to not interfere in this Allan, unless you want to take her place."

The two men walked off toward the stable. Nightfall would see them back in their beds in Locksley, in relative comfort.

~*~

In the jail cell, deep in the dungeon, the woman waited. Night came, and with it, darkness. There was no moon, which suited her purpose. She had been quiet and still for hours and her jailors now ignored her. She set to work, slowly and silently. From the heel of her boot, she pulled a metal pin. She rose slowly and wandered around her cell aimlessly, finally coming to rest against one of the sides. She stayed there for nearly an hour, silent, before roaming about again and coming to rest on the other side of the cell. An hour later found her repeating the pattern, but coming to rest by the door. The guard had long ago noted her movement and dismissed it.

She waited for the guard to fall into a boredom-induced sleep, careful to note that the other prisoners were also asleep. Wrapped in a scrap of cloth, the pin made no sound as she slipped it into the keyhole and began to work the lock. It seemed like an eternity later that the lock opened and she was able to slip out, quietly re-locking the door behind her before returning the pin to her boot. She moved wraith-like through the dungeon and up the stairs, pausing in the hall as the embers of the fire glinted on the jewel-encrusted handle of a dagger which was stuck into the table where the sheriff had thrown it earlier in a fit of rage. There was no way she could resist such a prize. She carefully pried the dagger from the wood and, melting with the shadows, made her escape. The sheriff searched for weeks to no avail—it was as if the woman had disappeared.


	2. Charades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Christmas party!

 

Chapter Two: Charades

The wind had turned bitterly cold, the muddy roads of autumn had hardened under winter's grasp and in Nottingham, the sheriff had put Marian in charge of the loathsome, but necessary Christmas festivities. Fires roared, warming the hall, bits of green decorated with red bows were everywhere and everyone in the castle looked well-fed and happy—it really annoyed Vasey to no end. He would use the party though, to cement loyalties—to cajole, bribe or threaten as the case demanded, in order to secure as much support for Prince John as possible. After that debacle two months ago with the horse thief, he had been scrambling to keep on Prince John's good side. If he ever got his hands on that…woman…

~*~

Allan A' Dale stood by the door, cold and miserable. As Gisbourne's right-hand man, it was his responsibility to greet the guests and make sure none carried weapons, other than their personal daggers for eating. The door opened once more, bringing with it a freezing blast of air mixed with snow, which blew around the new arrival. She stepped into the room and a guard closed the door.

"May I help you with that cloak, Milady?" Allan asked, and then inhaled sharply as the woman raised her head to let the hood of the cloak drop back. Her hair was gold and fell like waves around her face. Her forehead was smooth, her skin had a healthy glow to it, as though this woman enjoyed being outside; at the moment, it was also flushed from the cold. Her eyebrows were set high and wide apart over eyes the color of a summer sky; long eyelashes framed those eyes, which smiled as her mouth did. Something about her seemed familiar, but Allan couldn't place it and so ignored the feeling to continue his appraisal. Her lips were pink and full, and lines around the sides showed that she smiled and laughed often. Her nose sat, small and slightly pointed between high cheekbones. As she reached for the brooch which held her cloak closed, Allan noticed her hands—long fingers with nails that were cut short, clean and unbroken-but oddly did not look soft. He nearly fainted as she removed the cloak, pushing forward a perfect bosom in the process—not huge, but neither would she pass for a boy. The dress she wore was a deep blue which spoke volumes for her wealth, and at her hips was a belt that looked to be made of silver; so too, did silver adorn her neck and three of her fingers. She handed the black cloak to him and he had to shake himself out of his trance-like state as she spoke.

"Thank you," she said softly as she held out the cloak. He took the cloak and watched as she made her way into the room. Gisbourne never let Allan forget that he was low-born, despite his need for more, and Allan had never felt that lack more than he did now. He watched the lady until one of the guards who was on duty with him by the door cleared his throat to bring Allan back to the job at hand. He had not even felt the door open again as the lady's escort had entered the castle. Coming back to reality, he continued with his job, but between guest arrivals, he was constantly scanning the room for even a glance of the woman. He felt foolish—there was no way a woman like that would ever see him as anything more than a servant—and yet he couldn't seem to help himself.

Marian too, had felt the cold draft and used the arrival of the new guest as an excuse to disengage herself from a boring conversation about needlepoint with a woman who could be her mother. The woman who had just arrived was unknown to her and she thought she had known everyone who was invited, especially since she had done the inviting. She looked around, but there seemed to be no man with her either, which was also unusual. Marian decided she had to meet this woman—perhaps she was a kindred spirit, although Marian didn't hope too much as she had never had a female friend. The woman turned as Marian touched her arm; the blonde woman's smile was warm and friendly, Marian's own was hesitant.

"Hello." The woman's voice was like velvet, soft and warm, with a touch of an accent.

"Hello, I'm Marian."

"Deirdre."

"Do you live near here?" Marian's curiosity overtook her. "I thought I knew everyone who was coming."

"Are you the lady of this place?" Deirdre countered with her own question.

"I am. And I am not." At Deirdre's confused look, Marian continued, "I live here and was once betrothed to the Lord of Locksley." She did not specify which Lord of Locksley. "I am the one who planned this party."

"You have done a lovely job. The decorations are fine, the food and the wine are wonderful, and everyone appears to be in a festive mood."

"True. And for Nottingham, that's saying something." Marian looked grim for a moment before shaking it off and putting on a smile.

"What do you mean?" Deirdre looked inquiringly at Marian.

"It's just that…well, I guess it's the same everywhere. It's been…difficult. So, where did you say you were from?" Marian quickly changed the subject.

"I didn't. We own a bit of land on the River Mersey, but I was born in Ireland."

"We?"

"My father and I. Well, mostly my father. He travels a lot so it seems like the place is more mine." Deirdre's voice held a hint of sadness. She really did feel bad lying to Marian, who seemed so nice, but part of the plan was to arouse sympathy.

"That must be difficult. Is there anyone else in your family?" Sir Edward's recent death and Robin's proposal had left Marian a bit less wild than she had been formerly. She missed her father horribly and felt sorry for this woman with her absent father.

"No one." Deirdre let her gaze sweep the room as she thought of her huge family back home in Dun Aisling and how much she would miss them this Christmastide. "I'm afraid I know so few of my neighbors. Would you introduce me to some of them?"

"I'd be happy to. Where shall we start?" This last was more to herself, but Deirdre took the question at face value.

"The man at the door. Who is he?" Deirdre turned so she could view the man who had taken her cloak again.

Marian turned also and looked to the door, her face a mask of confusion. "I'm sorry, but who?"

"The man by the door. Taking the cloaks. He's wearing black and has the prettiest blue eyes." She smiled at Allan as he found her gaze.

Marian gaped in horror, "Surely you don't mean Allan!"

"Allan," this said thoughtfully. "Allan what?"

Marian was puzzled. "But Allan is…"

"He's what?" asked Deirdre.

How to explain to her that Allan was a traitor without giving her own self away? How to explain that he would sell his own mother if the price was right and that Allan's escape plans always put himself first? Or the fact that Allan was common without making herself sound like a snob? These thoughts raced through Marian's head as she struggled to come up with an answer.

"Well, Marian? Is he married? Engaged? A priest? Does he not like women? What?" Deirdre had a conspiratorial grin on her face, one that widened at the total shock on Marian's face as Deirdre asked if he liked women.

"Of course he…what I mean is…he works for Guy. He's not a lord or anything. He's a…a peasant. You're…not." Marian seemed shocked at her own words, but Deirdre was unfazed.

"So who is Guy? And what does Allan do for him?" she probed on.

"Guy is the sheriff's head of security. Allan does whatever Guy requires of him." Marian still looked distressed. In all her years as the Night Watchman, helping the poor, she had never realized that she still thought of herself as above them. Her words to Deirdre proved to herself that she had.

"So this…Guy and Allan are in charge of security at the castle? I do hope that they are good at their jobs." She smiled broadly at Allan, who smiled back warmly, before the two women made their way around the room, Deirdre being introduced to, and charming, the other guests.

The same guard who had had to rouse Allan from his earlier stupor noticed his new superior's smile and followed the man's gaze. "She's quite pretty, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess," Allan replied absently.

"Damn shame she's only for lookin' though," the man mused.

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well, her bein' a lady an' all, she's completely out o' our class."

Allan suddenly seemed to deflate, "Yeah, I guess you're right. It just seemed like…I guess she's just bein' nice." Still, Allan couldn't seem to stop searching for her in between arriving guests.

~*~

The night wore on. Deirdre was bored senseless by all the lords prattling on, particularly those who were still single or were widowed; both breeds seemed intent on impressing her so that she would put in a good word with her absent father to help them secure her hand in marriage. She listened intently though, as these same men spoke of their vast wealth and the form of it. Many of the men had most of their wealth tied to their lands—these she dismissed, it was difficult at best to steal a man's lands. Instead, she flirted with those who seemed to possess money or jewels. None of the men seemed to be suspicious of her questioning about their income; after all, she was just looking out for her future and that of the children she would bear them. All the while, as she listened to the men drone on and on, she found herself looking for Allan. If she caught Allan's eye, she would smile warmly at him, and the man she was speaking to at the time would think he was impressing her. By night's end, she was more than happy to retire to the room she was to share with Marian. It was well into the small hours of the morning before the two women stopped talking and fell into an exhausted sleep.


	3. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guests are leaving the party. Well, most of them are, anyway...

 

Chapter Three: Visitors

The day dawned, crisp and clear. Deirdre and Marian rose and washed in bowls of water that had been heated and scented with dried rose petals before making their way down to the hall. Deirdre stopped Marian at the door.

"Marian, I was thinking. I don't have any friends at my home and I so enjoyed my stay last night. Is there any way…I mean, I don't suppose I could…"

Deirdre seemed at a loss for words, and Marian quickly filled in the gap. She too, had enjoyed having another single woman of her class around. Although she was friendly with the servants, she knew that none of them really counted her as a friend. "I would truly love it if you could stay for a bit longer. I don't think the Sheriff would mind and I'm certain I could convince Sir Guy to allow it." Marian smiled at her new friend and they turned to leave.

~*~

In the hall, the women found that many of the lords had already risen, eaten, and gone on their way, eager to get back to their homes before some capricious winter storm made travel impossible. Of the men Deirdre had spoken to the night before, only those who thought they had impressed her were still at the castle, waiting to say their good-byes and to offer to escort her back to her home. She demurred, stating that she would be staying until the spring to visit with her new dear friend, Marian. The men looked disappointed-they had lands and peoples of their own to manage, and to stay away so long would definitely do more harm than good for their income. The woman was beautiful, and being a merchant's daughter, would bring them more wealth, but they did not feel like gambling on this woman, and so they made their way back to their homes, offering invitations to Deirdre and her father to visit their homes in the spring. Deirdre was relieved when the last of these had made their good-byes and gone on their way.

Marian smiled at her impishly, sensing the other woman's disinterest in these men and the two made their way back inside the castle. The women were followed by Gisbourne and Allan, who had been seeing to the departure of the guests-Gisbourne looking bored by, and Allan distraught yet slightly amused over, Deirdre's admirers. Marian had spoken to Gisbourne while Deirdre was saying her farewells, and he had promised to have a word with the Sheriff about allowing Deirdre to stay.

The Sheriff sat before the enormous fire, picking the remains of breakfast from his teeth. "Well, well, well, Gisbourne, is everyone finally…" The Sheriff stopped smacking his lips and sneered at Deirdre as he turned from the fire. "Did you forget something, my dear?"

Deirdre shifted nervously, ducking her head, then looking up at Guy fearfully, pleading with him silently to speak for her. He took the bait and, clearing his throat, spoke.

"The Lady Deirdre," The fact that he assumed she was a lady was quite amusing to Deirdre, although she hid it well, continuing to look scared of the big, bad Sheriff. "The Lady Deirdre would like to request our assistance. Her father will be away until the spring and she recently lost half of her guard-staff. It appears the men wanted to spend the winter with their families in Ireland."

"And this affects me how?" The Sheriff looked bored, but also agitated, as he always looked whenever someone requested his help.

"Lady Deirdre was quite anxious on her trip here. With her guard staff being so small and her being a Lady on her own, she was afraid of being waylaid and feels that only fortune and some bad weather kept her from this fate. She requests our hospitality until the return of her father this spring."

The Sheriff jumped up. "Absolutely not!"

Deirdre spoke softly, almost shyly. "My Lord Sheriff, begging your pardon, but I would be willing to pay."

The Sheriff arched an eyebrow in sudden interest. "Pay?"

"I know that My Lord is kind and generous," The others in the room kept their faces completely expressionless-Gisbourne staring at a point above the Sheriff's head, Marian ducking her own, and Allan's eyes widened before he blinked rapidly. "but I would not wish to be a burden. I would be willing to pay one silver coin per man per day-that should cover our expenses and those of our horses." It would more than cover their expenses, but Deirdre intended on getting a return on her investment come Spring anyway, so the cost didn't matter. To an extent.

"Hmm. You understand that I am, as you say, a generous man, but of course, costs have gone up, and with it being winter…hmm. Four gold coins per day per head should cover it." The sheriff knew his amount was ridiculous, yet he was hoping to fool her into agreeing. Unfortunately for him, Deirdre was no fool.

"First of all, My Lord Sheriff, I'm sure that you meant to say silver coins, not gold." The sheriff winced at her acumen. "And secondly, I'm afraid that if I were to pay such an amount, however fair," Deirdre knew for a fact it was outrageous, "that my father would be most angry with me."

"Well, my dear, enjoy your trip home." The sheriff got up, turned, and began to leave the room.

Deirdre turned to one of her men as Marian and Allan looked on, distressed. "Martin, do ride to London and tell my father of my intent to return to Dun Aisling. Have him return posthaste with his guard. With luck, we will return there ourselves."

Martin turned pale at his Lady's orders. "But, Lady Deirdre, your father was not to be disturbed. After all, he is meeting with Prince Jo…"

Deirdre shushed him, but the Sheriff had heard and stopped cold, rocking forward a bit before turning back to the group. "Prince John?" he asked. "Your father knows Prince John?"

Deirdre looked highly uncomfortable and glared at Martin. "He does."

"What did you say your name was?"

"Deirdre."

"Your FULL name, if you please."

"Deirdre." She paused briefly before adding, "O'Niall."

"O'Niall. O'Niall." The Sheriff seemed thoughtful as he paced about repeating her family name. Suddenly he stopped and whirled around, eyes wide. "Your father is Fàelàn O'Niall? Prince John's sp...adviser?"

Deirdre looked to her feet, doing her best to look horrified; inside, she was laughing—Martin would be getting an extra coin in his pay for playing his part so well.

The Sheriff looked gleeful suddenly, a frightening look for him, like a demon-child given a new soul to play with. "Well, well, well. Let it never be said that the Sheriff of Nottingham is not a kind and generous host. You may stay as long as you like, my dear. I will accept no more than one silver coin per person. Come along, Gisbourne. Allan, you and Marian see that Lady Deirdre is quartered in one of our best chambers, then see to the quartering and stabling of her men and horses. My Lady." The Sheriff bowed low over Deirdre's hand, placing a kiss upon the back of it in seeming respect before leaving with Gisbourne.


	4. The O'Nialls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a bit more about Deirdre.

The O'Nialls

Allan was perplexed. "I'm not bein' funny but, what was that about?" He was ecstatic that she was staying even though he knew he wouldn't stand a chance with her, but he was confused by the sheriff's sudden decision change.

Marian looked at Deirdre in shock. Deirdre quirked her eyebrows at them and smiled a lopsided grin—a grin they would come to know well in the following months, which meant she was either about to get into some mischief or had just done some mischief. It was Marian who spoke next.

"You never said…I mean I didn't know…Your father truly is Fàelàn O'Niall? Of the O'Nialls?"

"Yeah, well, I don't like to name-drop. Shall we get me settled or what?"

Deirdre's question seemed to elicit movement from the others; Allan reached for one of her bags at the same time as she did. Their hands met, sparks danced, and Allan's eyes went wide. The smile faded from Deirdre's face and she stared wide-eyed back at him.

"I…I'll take this one, if you don't mind," she stammered as she lifted the bag and turned to Marian. "Where to?"

Marian hadn't seen the sparks or the long look, she had been looking to the stairs, wondering where in Nottingham castle was nice enough to house one of the O'Nialls for the next few months. Making up her mind, she led the way up the stairs to the unused east wing of the castle. The sunlight would help to warm the room and it was as far from the dungeons, with their horrible smells and screaming victims, as possible. Marian pushed the door open and apologized immediately about the dust. "I'll have someone come up immediately to fix the room, Milady."

Deirdre sighed in exasperation, "That's why I don't tell anyone who I am. They become immediately obsequious. Marian, last night we were just two friends, talking and laughing. I'd like it if it could stay that way. If not, I'd rather take my chances on the road."

Marian smiled shyly, "Of course, Mil…Deirdre. But the room is rather dusty and I'd prefer my friend to stay in a clean room."

Deirdre smiled back. "Well, let me get out of these traveling clothes first."

Allan, forgotten in the background, reddened at the thought of Deirdre getting undressed and cleared his throat to remind the women that he was there. Deirdre turned to him and smiled and suddenly the room was unbearably hot.

"Thank you, Allan, for your help. I do hope I'll be seeing you around."

Deirdre's attention had Allan's usual swagger returning to him. He grinned at her roguishly, "I'm glad to 'elp you, Milady. Anything you need, you can call on me, day or night."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

Marian gaped in horror as Allan bowed low over Deirdre's outstretched hand and planted a very improper kiss there which had Deirdre laughing in delight.

In the hallway, Marian punched Allan's arm. "Owww! What was that for?" He cringed—Marian hit hard, not just hard for a woman.

Marian hissed at him, "You are unbelievable! How dare you act that way with one of the O'Nialls! You have got some nerve!"

Marian strode away, followed by Allan who looked wounded—and angry. He knew he was a nothing, but he wanted more and that should count for something.

"Geez, Marian, it was just a bit o' harmless flirtin'. It's not like she'd ever fancy me or anythin'. And even if she did, it's nothin' to do with you. You act like she's royalty or somethin'!"

Marian paled even more, "She practically is royalty, you moron! The O'Nialls have been advisors to more thrones than you could count!"

"All the more reason to not worry about her expressin' any interest in me. I'm nothin' and I know it, but thanks, Marian for makin' me realize that you know it too! I'm a traitor, right? So God forbid I should have any fun in this piece o' Hell!"

It was Allan's turn to stride furiously away. Marian visibly deflated—she was really starting to dislike herself lately, and now she had hurt a sometime friend. She returned to her rooms to wait for Deirdre to finish dressing.

~*~

Allan was beyond angry. Marian had really hurt his feelings. He was a nobody, a traitor, but why did he have to keep paying for his mistakes? His first mistake had been going into that tavern, where Guy had caught him. Later, Guy had tortured him, then offered him life—at the cost of betraying his friends. Where had been the harm though? Give Guy a little information, receive a bag of money. Until Guy had killed Roger of Stoke, that is. Nobody was ever supposed to have gotten hurt, let alone killed. Allan had tried to break it off with Guy at that time, but Guy wouldn't let him off the hook. He knew Allan only wanted stability—and that came with money. When Allan had tried to break it off again, Robin had been there. Robin had been so angry, Allan was just glad to be alive, but then he'd had no place to go. He'd turned to Guy again, and been his right-hand man ever since. It wasn't always easy—often his life was threatened, and he'd had his fare share of kicks and hits along the way—but where else would he get even close to having the sort of opportunities that being with Guy brought? And it wasn't like Robin and the gang would take him back—every time they saw him, they drew weapons and glared at him, and Little John called him "traitor." Every time. He headed for the stables—it was cold, but it hadn't yet snowed, and he needed to blow off steam.


	5. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Allan survive a shopping trip in Nottingham village with Deirdre and Marian?

Chapter Five: Shopping

Allan had left orders before he had gone off for where Deirdre's men were to be housed. Now it was evening and everyone appeared to be settled in. He stopped at a pub after giving his horse over to a stable lad and bought a pint and a bowl of stew with some bread. He flirted outrageously with the serving wench and as the night wore on, he drank more, flirted more and generally had himself a good time. Here he was not a nobody; the pub was one owned by supporters of the sheriff and so he was actually a hero. On top of that, everyone knew he was Guy's man and so he was safe from being robbed or stabbed or both.

The next morning, he woke up in his bed in Nottingham Castle with a roaring head-ache and immediately was sick in his chamber pot. The pounding in his head was soon matched by the pounding at the door; he stumbled over and cracked it open.

"All right, all right." Cautiously peering through the opening, he saw an agitated Guy standing there. "What?" he managed to croak. Guy pushed past him and strode into the room, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"What happened to you?"

"A bit too much fun in the pub last night."

"Pull yourself together and come with me. And for God's sake, clean up a bit first. Lady Deirdre has requested that you escort her and Lady Marian through Nottingham."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. The ladies wish to go…shopping." Guy grinned evilly at Allan before leaving him to his ablutions.

Allan was ecstatic at the idea of spending the whole day with Lady Deirdre, but he was still upset with Marian, and frankly, everything hurt—his head hurt, his arms hurt, his hair even hurt. And Guy was right, he smelled horrible, and probably looked worse. This was not the kind of impression he wanted to make on the beautiful lady. Quickly, he washed, the cold water in the bowl not so much invigorating as painful, then changed to the only other set of clothes he had. He rushed down the stairs to the hall, cringing at the sound of his boots on the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he felt nauseous again as the smells of a breakfast recently finished assailed his nostrils. Bent nearly double, he fought down the urge, looking carefully around the room. He stood up quickly, like a marionette, as he spotted Lady Deirdre and Marian across the hall, standing and talking with Guy. The sheriff was nowhere in sight. Allan strolled over casually to the group.

"Morning, ladies. Giz." There was a bit of payback for the shopping dig. Gisbourne glared at Allan before excusing himself.

"Ladies, enjoy your shopping." It was obvious that Guy was including Allan in the "ladies" part.

Deirdre placed her hand on Guy's arm, which made Allan unaccountably angry. "Won't you please come with us too, Sir Guy?" She batted her eyes at him and Allan came close to taking a swing at his superior.

"I am afraid I have pressing matters to attend to elsewhere. I am sure Allan will be fine company." Allan grinned, doing his best to look completely at ease, not a bit unwell. Guy's sneer and hard gaze told Allan his act had hit a nerve; obviously, Guy had wanted to see Allan in a bit more discomfort.

"Thank goodness he's gone." Allan and Marian glanced open-mouthed at Deirdre. "Is he always so serious, so gloomy?"

"But you just, I mean, the way you asked him to come with us…" Allan spluttered.

"Manners, Allan, manners. Sometimes they bite you in the ass, other times, you get lucky."

With that, she breezed toward the door, assuming that the others were with her so that they had to scramble to catch up. At the top of the outside stairs, Deirdre had stopped, her head thrown back, eyes closed, inhaling deeply.

"I love the smell of early winter, don't you?" she asked of neither of them in particular. Opening her eyes and looking ahead, she added, "It'll snow today—I can smell it. Come on, we've work to do." She hurried down the stairs, followed closely by Marian and Allan.

They began at the stables. Deirdre instructed one of the stable hands to hitch up her cart. Allan and Marian looked confused; it was Marian who stepped forward.

"Deirdre, I thought we were going shopping?"

"We are."

"But Nottingham is only just there, and it'll be difficult to maneuver the cart through the market."

"That's all right."

"You know we can have everything delivered right to the castle."

"I know."

Marian didn't know if she was being deliberately vague or what, but she found it quite annoying and decided that the only way to get a direct answer would be to ask a direct question. "So why do we need the cart?"

"You'll see."

Marian's eyes widened and her mouth went tight. Sure, according to Deirdre they were friends, but the last thing she wanted to do was shout at a member of the O'Niall family. Allan stood by patiently, waiting to see where it would lead; he was used to being kept in the dark and it didn't really bother him. The crisp morning air had cleared his head and made his stomach less queasy, but he found himself embarrassed when said stomach growled as Deirdre produced a carrot from her purse to feed to the obviously already spoiled horse.

Deirdre raised her eyebrows at him as she looked over from feeding the horse. "Would you like a carrot too, Allan?" she teased, smiling mischievously.

His face heated as he replied, "Sorry, Milady, I just haven't eaten yet this mornin'."

"Well, that'll be our first stop then."

"Really, Milady, I'll be fine."

"Of course you will. We'll stop by a baker's and get you some bread and then you'll be fine."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"You're not a bother. I requested you to come along as our bodyguard. Why would I request someone who was a bother?"

"Thank you, Milady."

Soon they were on their way, and true to her word, their first stop was the baker's house, where Deirdre requested a loaf of bread and some water for the three of them. Marian demurred, stating she was not hungry, and Allan looked like he would burst from shock and embarrassment when Deirdre not only sat at a table in the front of the baker's shop and invited him to sit with her, but then began to eat with him.

"Milady, not meanin' to be disrespectful or anythin', but I can eat as we go."

"Nonsense. You'll feel better if you sit and eat. Relax and eat your bread. Slowly, now."

She smiled at him and he suddenly felt too warm again. He started to eat quickly so as not to hold her up and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt her hand on his arm.

"Slowly. You wouldn't want to finish before I do and leave me to eat on my own, would you? That would be rude and I don't believe you're a rude man."

Allan immediately slowed down and began to relax. Deirdre chewed and swallowed a piece of bread, while Marian got up to pace the bakery impatiently.

"So," Allan looked up at Deirdre as she began to speak, "rough night?"

Unfortunately, he had had a piece of bread in his mouth, on which he began to choke. Deirdre got up quickly and clapped him on the back until he held up a hand.

"I'm all right. I'm all right."

Deirdre regained her seat on the other side of the table and laughed lightly at the pained look on Allan's face. He glared at her before cautiously taking a drink of water.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Just finish your bread—you'll feel better."

She smiled at him and was instantly forgiven. Allan watched as she got up to pay the baker—he thought he saw a lot more money go into the baker's hand than the meal actually cost and from the look of surprise on the baker's face, he knew he was correct. They walked out the door and Deirdre went to and opened one of the trunks on the cart. She removed four blankets and walked back past Allan and Marian without a word. A moment later, she came back out of the bakery without the blankets.

"What was that about?" It was Allan who asked—Marian was prepared to let charity happen where it would, no questions asked.

"I can't exactly have a baker of that quality freezing to death this winter, can I? Come on then, we've shopping to do." With that, she turned and began to make her way through the town.


	6. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allan and Marian have survived the shopping trip, but they're not sure they're happy about that. Meanwhile, Guy is confused and the sheriff's nerves are being frayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre may come off as a bit of a Mary Sue in this chapter, but there is more to her than meets the eye.

Chapter Six: Aftermath

Allan was exhausted. He couldn't remember being this exhausted since Robin had insisted they all learn the arts of war—he had had to spar with Little John, and been so sore afterwards that he could not walk. He lay on his bed, too tired to move, awed by the woman he had spent the day with.

After the bakery, she had gone to nearly every shop and pub in town. If she bought a bolt of cloth at one shop, she would buy another bolt in another color at another shop. She would try stew at one pub, roasted meat at another. Shoes, jewelry, harnesses for the horses—she even bought Allan three entire new outfits—at three different shops, of course. When Allan had protested, she had insisted, declaring, "This way you've always got something clean to wear!" If she could not purchase something right away, she commissioned it and paid in advance.

Allan had asked at one point, "I'm not bein' funny but, why do you need me here anyway?" He had been glad to be there and yet, since she had her own men and Nottingham was not the road south, he had been curious.

"Would you prefer to not be here?" Deirdre had asked without anger.

"No, no, no. I mean yes. I mean…"

Deirdre had laughed at his discomfort. "Allan, I want somebody with me who knows Nottingham."

"Well, Marian knows Nottingham." Even to his own ears, his words sounded weak.

"Look, Allan, if I'm that horrible to be around…"

"No! I mean…I just wondered why me?"

"Because I like you," Deirdre had stated, gazing at him openly.

She had not said anything beyond that of her reasoning and Allan had decided to leave well enough alone at that point; watching in awe as she marched through Nottingham. Everywhere she went, she overpaid—and gave away blankets. Somehow the cart made it through the narrow streets of the market, getting lighter and lighter as the day went. She kept going until nightfall.

By the time they got back to the castle, it was after dark and it was all Allan could do collapse on the bed. He was tired and full and content. Sure, Deirdre was a lady and it wasn't like they'd ever get married or anything, but it sure had been easy spending time with her. He wondered if she was one of those ladies who liked to consort with commoners to annoy their fathers. He smiled at the thought, thinking of the fun they could have—he'd get a flogging, but it'd be worth it with that woman. Suddenly he sat up, face gone pale. They had tried to cut off his hand for attempting to poach one of the king's deer, what if they did that for men who poached their daughters? What would they lop off for that? He lay back down, troubled until he thought of how she had acted with him today. She'd treated him like a man, like a friend, not like a servant. And besides, she had said she liked him. Why not just see where things went? He could run later if he needed to. He fell asleep with a grin on his face.

~*~

Marian was so tired she couldn't move. In one day, Deirdre had given away more money, food, and blankets than the Night Watchman had given away in a year. Deirdre had seemed indefatigable, flitting here and there like some sort of hummingbird, and everywhere she went, frowns turned to smiles, and laughter soon followed. She treated everyone like they were all her equals and flirted outrageously with Allan; Marian would have to talk to Deirdre about that—it just wasn't right to lead the man on when nothing could come of it. At the pubs (and she stopped at every one), she would order pots of stew and loaves of bread. She would take a small bowl of stew and a bite of bread, and offer food to Marian, Allan, and her soldiers as well. Anything left was given to any people who were about. It wasn't long before all of Nottingham was well-fed. She purchased something from every merchant it seemed; those who had nothing to sell, she gave jobs to. She hired personal servants, maids, tailors. Marian had never seen anything like it; all she wanted now was sleep.

She nearly cried at the soft knock on her door and rose with difficulty to answer it. Deirdre. How on Earth the woman was still standing, let alone looking as awake as she did, was beyond Marian, especially after she had insisted on helping in the straitening of her room the day before. The servants had been horrified at first by the lady in their midst, then had grown easy and by nightfall had been laughing and joking with her as though they had been best friends for years.

"Come in, Deirdre."

"What's the matter, Marian? You look tired."

Marian nearly choked, "Well, of course I'm tired. Aren't you?"

"I guess I could use some rest. But first I wanted to sit and have some tea with my friend. You're not too tired for tea, are you?"

Marian sighed. "Of course not."

~*~

Vasey was irritated. All day people had traipsed into the castle, bound for the east wing. When stopped and questioned, the answer came to be invariably, "Lady Deirdre said to bring these to her room." The woman wasn't even in the castle and she was insufferable. If her father had not been the O'Niall, she would have been taking her chances on the road back to her home, but the sheriff couldn't risk annoying a man who held so much power with royalty in many countries. He was a spy, an advisor to powerful men, and was said to be able to charm the fish from the sea. He was also said to be richer than King Solomon, hence his daughter's spending habits. The sheriff was determined to find a way to get some of that wealth into his personal coffers and also to acquire some for the Black Knights. But first he needed to hit something. There was a knock at the door and Guy entered at the sheriff's barked invitation. A moment later, he wished he hadn't.

~*~

Guy was confused. He had lusted after Marian for so many years and yet she rebuffed his attentions while seeming to welcome them. Allan had become a sometime friend, a colleague almost. He had seen neither of them for two days, not since the sheriff had allowed Fàelàn O'Niall's daughter to stay. He should be angry with the woman, yet when he had gone to confront her upon the group's return from their shopping that day, he had found himself at a loss for words. She had stood in the middle of her room, directing people like a general before battle. She had looked competent, in command, and—happy. Happy was a look Guy was not familiar with. When she had turned her radiant smile on him, he had forgotten all about Marian for a moment.

"Sir Guy! How wonderful to see you—we missed you today!" Guy found himself off balance—he was certain she was lying and yet she seemed to really mean it.

"I trust that Allan was helpful?"

"He was. Although, I'm afraid I may have worn both Marian and him out." She laughed and he found something strange happening to his mouth. "Why, Sir Guy, I do believe that's a smile I see." Her enormous, vibrant grin had him smiling wider and ducking his head like a boy.

Pulling himself together, he spoke. "I apologize for coming by so late. The sheriff asked me to come by earlier and check on you—to be sure you're finding everything to your satisfaction, but you were still gone then."

"It's quite all right, Sir Guy. Please tell the sheriff that I appreciate his hospitality and I will see him in the morning. Good night, Sir Guy." With that, he had found himself dismissed as easily as by a queen. He knocked on the door to the sheriff's room and his good mood disappeared seconds later.

~*~

Deirdre straightened her shoulders and headed for Marian's room. She could do with some tea. It had been a long day and she was tired, but she was too excited from the day to sleep yet. She had heard that Nottingham was poor, owing to its greedy sheriff, but the extent of that poverty had nearly overwhelmed her today. It had been hard to keep a smiling face, but she had refused to add to the people's misery by showing how upset she truly was. Winding down would do her some good.

The day had started with breakfast with that noxious man, the sheriff and his handsome, but sullen Captain of the Guard or whatever Sir Guy's official title was. At least if the sheriff was odious, he could carry a conversation. Sir Guy was so stiff she thought he'd break sometimes. When Marian had joined them, she didn't know who among the three of them was more relieved.

She had been disappointed though, to find Allan still abed. There was something about him that attracted her—she didn't know if it was his eyes or that cheeky grin, but there was something that said, "Here is trouble." While most women of her age and station avoided trouble (and were therefore married to dull men twice their age), Deirdre had always sought it out. Her father always proclaimed that she was more man than most men her age, and when he wasn't so annoyed with her that he was locking her in her rooms or sending her to a convent, he was puffed-up with pride over her. The fact that she was twenty-three and unmarried bothered him a bit, and while it was true that every time she turned down one or another potential alliance, he wanted to strangle her, the fact remained that he hadn't killed her yet, nor had he forced her into marriage as many had counseled him to do. She nearly walked by Marian's room, thinking of her father, of Allan, and of the apoplexy her father would have if he could read her thoughts about Allan.


	7. Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve in Nottingham. It's off to church we go!

Chapter Seven: Angels

It had been a few days since the shopping trip and Allan had hardly seen Deirdre in that time. He found, unaccountably, that he missed her. Sure, she was prettier than a fat purse held by an idiot, but she was also fun and funny. He loved that she had a sense of humor; joking around with her that day, he had felt like he had a friend, something he hadn't felt since Robin had thrown him out of the gang. He had wanted to see more of her, but between Guy keeping him busy training with the guards (including Deirdre's), and the fact that Deirdre had been busy expanding her room to become rooms, that just had not been possible. The only way would have been to go to her rooms, but since he had no reason to be there, he didn't want to chance being dismissed and feeling like an idiot. Now, here he was in his room, washing after the training and feeling foolish anyway.

"Bloody 'ell!" he cursed as he threw the towel down and it knocked his wash-water all over his feet.

The knock at his door was so tentative and unexpected that he almost didn't hear it. He practically ran for the door—that was no soldier's knock, that was a woman's delicate hand. He flung open the door and there stood a woman who was old enough to be his mother—she was non-descript; in fact, she was brown from the hair on her head to her eyes to every article of clothing. His face dropped in disappointment. _What an idiot, expecting it would've been 'er! Why would she come to my room?_ The woman cleared her throat.

"Yes, what?" Allan asked grumpily, feeling like a heel.

"Milady Deirdre requests that you wear the new blue shirt and the gray pants that she bought for you to the dinner table. She said to be sure to wear your new boots as well." Message uncomfortably delivered, the woman curtsied and hurried back to Lady Deirdre's rooms.

Allan closed the door, a frown on his face. Just because she bought the clothes for him didn't mean she could tell him when to wear them. He'd wear whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted! He wasn't her child or her doll to be dressed by her! In his anger, he forgot about the water on the floor and nearly fell making his way to the chest where his clothes were. Cursing, he began flinging clothes about the room.

~*~

Guy sniggered at Allan as they arrived at the dinner table.

"Your boy looks pretty tonight, Gisbourne." The sheriff sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "What happened, fall into a pool of rose petals?"

"Yeah, well, wouldn't want to offend anyone, would I?"

The sheriff sneered, "Too late."

Just then, Guy rose quickly from the table. A servant moved to right his tipping chair. The other men's gazes followed Guy's and found Marian and Deirdre descending from their rooms. They were like the moon and the sun—one cool, distant and beautiful; the other warm and inviting, too stunning to look at for long. The sheriff rolled his eyes at Guy and Allan's appreciative stares, "It appears we have an outbreak of leprosy," he stated to no one in particular.

The women reached the bottom of the stairs and walked to the table; Guy and Allan pulled out chairs for them. The sheriff, still sitting, hoped for a quiet meal as the women settled at the table.

Deirdre noticed that Allan had worn the blue shirt—she had known it would bring out his eyes, but hadn't realized how devastating he would really look; the gray pants went quite well with it, also. She tried desperately not to stare at him, but couldn't help glancing at him sidelong on occasion. Toward the end of the meal, she piped up, "So, Sheriff Vasey, will you be coming to the evening service with us?"

"I'm sorry, the what?" Vasey was so close to finishing his meal, since he'd started before Guy had even arrived.

"The evening service at the church, Sheriff. Surely you haven't forgotten that this is Christmas Eve?"

"Of course it is. Yes, well, I'm afraid I have…work…to do," he responded around a mouth full of chicken.

"My Lord Sheriff, even you must take some time off."

"Sorry, my dear. Work, work, work. No rest for the...well, you know." Vasey smirked.

"You are a tireless man, Sheriff. A credit to Prince John."

Vasey finished his last bite— _finally_ —then rose from his chair. "If you'll excuse me." As he left, the sheriff heard Deirdre turn the same question onto Guy and Allan, both of whom responded, "Of course." _Saps._

~*~

Allan hadn't spent much time in church and being there with Deirdre felt weird. The light from the candles of the Christmas Eve service softened her and gave Allan some very un-churchlike thoughts. The fact that she sang like an angel didn't help; Allan knew some of the words, but he couldn't hold a tune if it was in a bag around his neck. It was hours before the service was finally over and the whole time, Allan felt like the priest was reading his thoughts and damning him for each and every one of them. When they finally stepped outside into the cold air, Allan sighed in relief. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Deirdre grabbed his arm and put hers through it.

"Sorry to startle you. It's cold and the road is slippery. Do you mind?"

Mind? Hell, he thought, he wouldn't mind if she threw him to the ground and had her wicked way with him! "No, tha's all right. Mind your step there."

Despite Allan's warning, Deirdre slipped on the icy pathway and nearly fell, held up for a moment by his body. He looked down at her laughing face and it was all he could do to keep from kissing her; had she been common like him, he would have kissed her soundly right then. If they had been alone instead of with Guy and Marian, he probably would have kissed her anyway, lady or not. Instead, he grinned and laughed with her as he put her back on her feet. They arrived back at the castle and the women went to their rooms. Guy turned to Allan, scowling.

"Be careful, Allan. Keep in mind, she's a lady." Guy turned and left the hall, killing Allan's good mood.

~*~

"What was that all about?" Marian demanded of Deirdre as they reached her rooms.

"What?" Deirdre asked innocently.

"You know. Putting your arm through Allan's. That slip on the ice. Falling into him."

"Oh, that." Deirdre grinned.

"Yes, well?" Marian pressed.

"Well, what? Can't a girl have a little fun?" Deirdre frowned. Marian's high-handed attitude toward her and Allan was getting annoying.

"Not you, not with Allan. Allan looks out for himself. I'm just telling you right now, if you got into trouble, he'd only save you if it helped him." Marian hated to be uncharitable, but she felt it was best to warn Deirdre of exactly what sort of man Allan A' Dale was.

"So noted. I'll try to stay out of trouble!" Deirdre slammed the door in Marian's face, her good mood dissipating like heat on the cold winter wind.


	8. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas comes to Nottingham! Maybe I should have started posting two weeks ago to get this posted in time with the holiday, lol.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight: Christmas

Christmas morning dawned, unusually warm and clear. The sheriff was in the hall, enjoying his breakfast, when the quiet of his morning was disrupted by Deirdre. _That woman would tax the patience of a saint!_

"Good morning, Sheriff! Merry Christmas! I trust you slept well?"

She flounced over and landed in the chair next to Vasey, causing him to pick some food from his teeth in an effort to offend the lady. Unfazed by his manners and not waiting for a response, she forged on, "I have a surprise for you and for Guy, and also Marian and Allan. Here they are!"

The sheriff flinched at her excited outburst as the three people in question entered the hall; Marian descending the stairs, Guy and Allan coming through the front door. "I have something for all of you. Wait here, I'll be back soon." She ran out the front door, leaving three puzzled and one irritated person behind.

"Thanks for the warning," the sheriff muttered. "Gisbourne, I'll be…elsewhere…if she's looking for me."

Vasey rose quickly to leave, but not fast enough. Martin, Deirdre's captain of the guard, walked in and asked them all to follow him. Vasey grumbled, the others were just curious as to what she was up to now. The group followed Martin to the stables where Deirdre stood before the closed door.

"Close your eyes, everyone. You too, Sheriff. No peeking, Sheriff Vasey!"

Deirdre lined the group up in a row, and then they heard the stable doors open. Deirdre exclaimed, "Okay, open your eyes!" Before each of them stood a horse, but not just any horse—Deirdre explained that these horses came from the Holy Lands. The horses had been part of the ones she had come with, extras for just in case, but she had decided to give them as Christmas presents.

Before Vasey stood a white stallion whose tail trailed on the ground and whose mane and forelock were so long, they hung past his neck and eyes respectively.

Marian's mare was chestnut, with a lighter mane and tail than her body, and white stockings and a small white diamond on her forehead.

Guy's stallion was as black as a starless night; not even one hair on his body was white.

Allan's stallion was a beautiful bay, with black socks and a white stripe that started between his liquid brown eyes and ran down to end in a point between his nostrils.

Each animal was perfectly formed, as though made by a master sculptor; their coats shone in the morning sunlight. They were far smaller than the huge destriers the others were used to, but were all the more beautiful for their small size.

"Will they...will they carry us?" Guy stared skeptically at the tiny animals. "They look like ponies for children."

Deirdre laughed. "They will indeed carry the largest of men, Sir Guy. They are far stronger than they look. Go on, say hello to your new horses."

Vasey moved forward, his body tense; no one gave him gifts unless… _What does she want? She's still got to pay._

Guy blinked in wonder as his stallion nosed him and whickered. No one gave him gifts unless… _Does she want me?_

Allan stepped forward and rubbed his stallion's neck as the animal pushed its head against him. No one gave him gifts. _She wants me._

Marian grinned and rubbed her mare's nose; she was an extraordinary gift.

Deirdre nearly vibrated with excitement, licking her lips as she smiled broadly. "Well, what do you think? Merry Christmas!"

Vasey pulled his hand away from the horse he had almost touched and stepped back. "Thank you, my dear. It's…overwhelming. I'm afraid I must be back to work, though." Vasey escaped back to the relative quiet of his study, where he could plot to steal the throne or nap or whatever.

"Deirdre, she's amazing. What's her name?" Marian mounted up without waiting to hear the mare's name.

"Her name is Jameela—it means 'beautiful.' The sheriff's horse is called 'Abyad.' Guy, yours is named 'D'Jinn' and Allan, your horse is called 'Samar.'"

"We should put them through their paces." Marian declared.

Deirdre laughed at her friend's enthusiasm. "I agree. Martin, will you please bring out Alemah?"

Martin turned with a nod and came back a moment later with a beautiful dapple-gray with a black mane and tail and black points. Martin had saddled and harnessed the other four horses earlier when Lady Deirdre's maid had come by—he had anticipated that his mistress would want her Alemah ready to ride as well.

"Martin, you are a treasure!" she smiled at him before stepping in Martin's cupped hands to mount up. "Where shall we go, everyone? I know—how about Locksley? I've heard it's quite pretty and I'd love to see it. Can we, Sir Guy?"

Guy was not used to being included as part of a group and found himself smiling again as he swung himself into the saddle. The fact that Deirdre wanted to see his home made him more certain that she did want him.

"Of course. We're to Locksley, if the sheriff asks, Martin."

"Yes, milord." Martin bowed low as Allan swung up onto the bay's back and the group moved out of the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Abyad means white, D'Jinn is a form of Genie, Samar is a conversation between lovers, and Alemah means learned woman. More romantic developments next chapter!


	9. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ride to Locksley and a stolen kiss...

Chapter Nine: The Kiss

 

Once at Locksley, Guy ordered the horses stabled and a Christmas lunch prepared. "Allan, you stay here and keep the Lady Marian company, while I show Lady Deirdre around Locksley."

"Well, I could do that for you, Guy." Allan volunteered. Deirdre lit up at his offer.

"It is my responsibility as Lord of Locksley. And it would give me pleasure." Guy's voice was low and menacing, a dog protecting its chew-bone.

Deirdre raised a brow and accepted Guy's gloved hand. Behind them, Allan quipped, "We'll see you soon, then. I mean, no disrespect or nothin', but there's not really that much to see, is there?"

Guy turned and glowered at Allan before he and Deirdre stepped back outside. Deirdre suppressed a giggle, but couldn't hide the smirk Allan's comment brought to her lips. Allan's ready smile and sarcasm were the day to Guy's solemn and almost shy night.

A cool wind had begun to blow as they had ridden toward Locksley and now made it a bit chilly walking around the village. Deirdre shuddered involuntarily and Guy reached over to put his arm solicitously on the small of her back to steer her.

"Over here is the smithy." As they went by, the warm air from the forges danced out to meet them. They walked by a few other buildings, mostly small farms. "Just here is the mill. Shall we step inside to warm up?"

Inside the granary was a bit warmer than the outside-at least the breeze was cut. Deirdre crossed over to the small window and opened the shutters to look out at the stream just below and the water wheel that ran the grinders for crushing the wheat into flour. Her cheeks were glowing from the sudden change in temperature.

"It really is quite a beautiful sight." She turned back to the room and found herself face to impressive chest with Guy.

"Yes, it is. Quite." Guy put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up as he lowered his to kiss her. 

Deirdre resisted Guy's kiss at first, then gave in, feeling his lips become even more demanding as she surrendered to his assault. He really was quite a good kisser, all confident male, despite his outer appearances. She broke free, pushing her hands against his chest-- _such a strong chest--_ and ducking her head away as she gasped for air. This was exactly how she had planned things--to have the sheriff's captain of the guard develop feelings for her, and yet, it felt wrong. Which was also odd. _How often have you not done something because it felt wrong? None. Never. Jamai. Riamh._

She risked a glance back up at his face. His handsome face. She swallowed hard to try to regain her composure. "Sir Guy, I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you…I mean, aren't you with Marian?"

Guy was breathing hard, trying to regain control of himself. His eyes were hazy with his feelings as his gaze locked on her face, dropping to her lips.

"Marian and I are…friends." He stroked her lips, pulling them open before he dipped his head for another taste. Deirdre began talking as she ducked her own head so his lips landed on her forehead.

"I see. I was under the impression that it was more than that."

Guy pulled back and chucked her chin once more to force her to look at him. "At one time, it was, but that is no longer the case."

Deirdre flushed at the desire written all over his face. _Is is hot in here? It's awfully hot in here._ "Sir Guy, I'm sorry. I am flattered, truly I am. You are everything a woman in my place could want—or the father of such a woman." She smiled up at him shyly. "You are handsome. You have land, wealth, power and ambition."

"But…"

Guy was looking down at her earnestly, the desire gone, replaced by pain. A wall seemed to brick itself up over his features even as she watched. He was used to pain and rejection, then. Damnable shame, that.

Deirdre decided to be honest with him, at least as honest as she could be right now, to spare him what pain she could by putting him out of his misery as quickly as possible. It was stupid and might destroy her plans. Even as she spoke the words, she cursed herself for ten kinds of fool. "But I have feelings for another."

"Allan." It was a statement, not a question, and Guy turned his head from her as he spoke Allan's name.

"Yes." She cringed inside, hoping she would be able to salvage something. Maybe being honest would earn his trust? _Ha!_

"You realize your father will never agree to such a union." Guy was still holding her, his closeness disturbing.

"It's possible. It's also possible that he'll be so happy that I'm showing interest in a man, that he may overlook Allan's…breeding." Deirdre smiled impishly at him and Guy's lips pulled up in a lopsided grin.

"I appreciate your honesty. More than you could ever know. So I will do the same for you. If your father should…disagree…with your choice, I will gladly step in and offer for your hand myself. Locksley is small, but I have ambitions for much more." He stepped away, allowing Deirdre to move once more.

"Thank you, Sir Guy. Should Allan not reciprocate my feelings or should my father disapprove of the match, I do believe you would be of great…comfort…to me." Deirdre stepped away from the window.

"Yes, well," Guy turned and walked back toward the door. "We should be getting back."

Deirdre slipped an arm through Guy's offered once. "Thank you, Sir Guy. For showing me your home, for your...interest and your discretion. For everything. You are truly a gentleman."

He smiled down at her and led her out the door toward the manor house.

~*~

In the manor house, Allan paced back and forth anxiously, stopping to stare out the window every time he passed it.

"Where are they?" he demanded of no one and everyone at once. "They should be back by now. Shouldn't they be back by now?"

He whirled back around to see Marian sitting looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Who cares, Allan? So they're having fun? So what? Maybe he'll set his sights on Deirdre and leave me alone. It's not like she could have feelings for you anyway—and if she did, nothing could come of them."

Marian bit her lip, but too late. Sure, she didn't welcome Guy's attentions, but she wasn't used to being ignored by him and it hurt her pride that she could so easily be replaced. On the other hand, the idea that he was paying attention to another woman and leaving her alone was a bit of a relief. _Why are relationships so confusing! I just want to be with Robin—he'll make it all better. He certainly would have made it all perfect as Robin of Locksley, though._

" _Who cares?_ You don't really mean that, Marian, do you? What if he's…"

Allan paled at the thought that had come unbidden to his mind, an image of Guy holding Deirdre against her will, of him violating her.

"I'll kill 'im if 'e's…" As he turned toward the door, hand on the pommel of his sword, the door opened and Guy and Deirdre blew in, both of them laughing, leaving everyone else staring in shock.

"Marian, you were right—this place is beautiful!" Deirdre declared gaily.

Guy was grinning like a boy, which made Allan angry. Allan had never seen Guy grin like that—he must have… A light touch on his arm had him glancing down in confusion. Deirdre's head was cocked to the side, her eyes scrunched slightly, her hand on his arm.

"Are you all right, Allan?"

"Yeah, fine. Never better." He grinned at her, then glared at Guy as Deirdre turned to remove her cloak.

They all took their seats as Thornton and a young girl began serving them. The quiet was stifling.

"Did I ever tell you the story of how my father won those horses I gave you all?" Deirdre knew she hadn't but their responses at least put some words into the silence. "My father has been to many lands. But none held such a stunning wealth of horseflesh as the land of the Bedouins. One night, long after most good people are abed, my father and a Bedouin chieftain were stumbling home after partaking of a bit too much...wine at a local pub. They were set upon by men who did not care for the religion of my father's companion, but did care for his wealth. My father helped the chieftain to fight the men off and by the grace of God, they returned to the chieftain's tribe unscathed, save for a couple of flesh wounds. The next morning, the chieftain praised my father and offered him such wealth that small nations would weep in joy over. My father refused. The chieftain offered his daughters, one by one, to my father, but he demurred, professing of his love for his wife and family back home in Ireland.

'I have been told that your people have some of the finest horses in the world, though I am no judge of horseflesh,' my father claimed. 'Perhaps a few of those, if you could show me some?'

The chieftain bowed his head and the next day, he paraded his herd of fine Arabian horses out for my father to choose. The chieftain's sons were worried to see this stranger take from their inheritances and tried to steer my father toward the older and sickly animals. My father pretended to listen to their counsel and later gave his choices to the chieftain himself, when those two men were alone. The next day, he headed to the docks with the cream of the old chieftain's herd. He made it on board the boat only barely ahead of the old chieftain's sons who had to watch from the shore as the bulk of their inheritances sailed away."

The group laughed at her story, and she continued on, telling them of her father's dealings in the lands to the east, where he traded for spices and silk, and of his travels to the lands to the south, where he traded for diamonds the size of a man's fist. By the time they finished eating, none of them wanted to return to Nottingham, but they squared their shoulders, mounted their horses, and left, arriving back at the castle just before nightfall.


	10. Choosing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre comes to a decision, but not many of the castle residents are going to like it.

Chapter Ten: Choosing

 

Days passed, clear and cold. Allan was always out and about, usually training with the men as there wasn't much else for him to do, other than the odd, sheriff-style emergency, until springtime. Deirdre found herself wishing for a blizzard to drive him indoors for a few days. It seemed to her that Allan was avoiding her and she didn't know why. Marian found her by an open window looking down at the training ground, a troubled expression on her face.

"What's wrong?" Marian sidled up to Deirdre, who jumped then glared.

"You startled me," she growled, flushing. _What in Heaven's name is wrong with you? How did you not hear her coming? Or see her? How many times has knowing your surroundings saved your life? Or your hand? Fool!_

Grunting, yelling, and the sound of wood striking wood, sometimes flesh, drifted through the open window. Marian craned her neck, looking down at the courtyard. Despite the cold, many of the men were shirtless, sweating from their exertions. Allan and Guy were there, sparring together, seeming to be evenly matched as the sun bounced off their glistening chests and backs. Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Marian asked, "So which one?"

Deirdre jumped a bit again, lost in her reverie of wondering how she had been startled. The irony did not escape her, nor did it amuse her as it normally would have. "Which one what?" 

"Well, we haven't spoken much since Christmas, but it seems to me that you and Guy came back from touring the village as…friends. So do you favor Guy now?" Marian continued to stare down at the men.

"Guy kissed me, that's all." _No need to snap at her, Dree._ She took a deep breath before continuing. "I was nice to him and he took it for something more."

Marian snorted, "He does that on occasion." She hesitated before adding, "So you still like Allan."

"Yes, but I'm not sure Allan still likes me." Tears welled, threatening to spill. 

Marian sighed. She nibbled her lower lip. Eyes still on the courtyard, she opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. She turned to Deirdre and frowned. 

Deirdre raised her chin and swiped at her eyes. 

Marian licked her lips and put a hand on Deirdre's arm. "Look, if you want my advice…"

"I don't."

Marian stopped, eyes wide in shock as she turned her face from the window. The look on her face set Deirdre to laughing. "All right, all right. Tell me what you'd do."

Marian swallowed and cast a sidelong glance back toward the window. Her back was ramrod straight. "Guy is powerful. He is rich, he has lands--not family lands, but they are his for now--and he is ambitious. He is also of a noble family, a Norman family, and we all know the Normans are the power these days. Allan is nice, I suppose, but he is poor and he has nothing, not even a bloodline. All he has is ambition, perhaps greed. Which do you think your father would allow?"

Deirdre looked thoughtfully at her friend for a moment. Marian's neck was red; she was hiding something. "You're right, Marian. I've vexed my father long enough. Time to make him happy."

Deirdre left Marian at the window-sill, then went to her rooms to change and grab her cloak. She went outside, leaving behind some mystified maids, and marched straight for the training grounds.

She arrived as the men were finishing up. Guy had just pulled his shirt on and spotted Deirdre coming toward them over Allan's head—the smile on his face made Allan turn around in perplexity. He saw Deirdre and frowned at Guy's reaction to her and at the smile on her face that he was sure was meant for Guy. He quickly replaced the frown with a grin though, prepared to joke his way out of the situation.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

Allan looked around, making a bit of a show out of it. "Ain't no gentlemen here, milady. Just me and Guy and a bunch o' guards. See ya, Guy." Allan pulled on his shirt and turned to leave, but Deirdre smiled at him and held her hand out to stop him. "I'd like a word if I may, Allan. You'll excuse us, Sir Guy?"

The smile faded from Guy's face. "Of course. _Lady_ Deirdre. Allan." His emphasis on her status and his lack was not lost on either of them as he stalked away.

"Allan, I could really use your help." Deirdre had decided that there was one sure way she would be able to see a lot of Allan.

"Sure. What'd you 'ave in mind?" Allan asked, nonplussed.

"Well, I've been watching you practice." Deirdre held her cloak tight and bit her lip, blinking rapidly and doing her best to look worried. 

"You 'ave?" Allan grinned wide, pleased at her admission, particularly when she colored and looked quickly away from the broad shoulders still visible under his shirt.

"Yes. And I'd really like it if you'd..." Deirdre looked at the ground, then back up at his face. "I mean, can you please..."

"What is it, milady?"

Allan's drawn brows and cocked head meant she had him. "Can you teach me to use a sword?"

Deirdre knew she would have to hide her own skill, but it would be worth it to spend time with Allan.

"You? But you're…" he had been about to say, "a woman," but stopped as he thought of the Night Watchman. "Sure you don't want Guy?"

"I'm sure he's far too busy to help with such a lowly task. But you could find the time for me, couldn't you?"

Allan's smile wavered at the mention of the chore being below Guy. _Naturally, not below me. But, I'll get to spend time with 'er, and we'll be awfully close during that time._ "Well, o'course I can. When d'ya wanna start?"

Deirdre whipped off her cloak—she was wearing pants instead of a skirt. "How about now?" She grinned and Allan grinned back at her as he handed her a wooden practice sword.

~*~

Guy strode away angrily, not looking back.

_I was patient with Marian and it cost me. I will NOT make the same mistake with Deirdre. Her family's wealth and power can restore my family name and bring me out from under the sheriff's thumb, closer to the prince and even more power. I will not let all of that slip away over a young girl's misguided feelings for some...commoner._

_Even if Allan returns her feelings, and he'd be a fool not to, there is no way her father will accept him. At the very worst, he could disown her and I'll be right back here, under the sheriff's thumb. Or, Deirdre might keep her wealth, but be forced to marry Allan if her father suspects anything untoward has happened between them. That simply cannot happen. No, I will have to take matters into my own hands. I will marry Deirdre, gaining control of her lands and money. And who knows—since Marian is fatherless and helpless now, maybe I'll take her as my mistress._

He smiled to himself at the thought of how this would all work out as he called for one of his most trusted guards to come to him in his chambers.


	11. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allan "teaches" Deirdre a thing or two.

Chapter Eleven: Practice

Deirdre and Allan were working up quite a sweat. She grunted in pain and the grin vanished from his face. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine, keep going." She swallowed and squared her shoulders, breathing hard, determined that he would not see her suffering.

"It's not like that was your first time!" He smiled weakly at her, sorry for having hurt her.

She blew the hair out of her eyes—eyes gone wide with alarm. _How did he know?_ "What?" The word came out way more strangled than she had intended.

"I mean, I've gotten in a couple of other good ones."

"Oh, well, that's only because I let you." Suddenly, she grinned and it was like the sun coming out. "You'll not touch me again."

"Really?" Allan heard the challenge in her voice and redoubled his efforts, shocked to find her practice sword under his chin a moment later, a hairs-breadth from his Adam's apple. He swallowed and felt the wood brush his skin.

Deirdre smiled up at him wickedly, "Really."

"You win." He held up his hands in surrender; Deirdre lowered the sword and they broke out laughing.

"You're a quick study."

"You're a good teacher."

Deirdre sobered as she realized that Allan was right--she had learned too fast; on top of that, he was too slow. She had acted like an idiot, like she knew nothing of swords and fighting so that she could spend time with him; she had even acted like she didn't know how to place her hands so that he would get behind her and place them for her and still _nothing_. They had come face to face, close enough to breath each other's air; not even a piece of vellum could have separated their lips from each other and still he had not kissed her. Maybe they were in too public a place. After all, despite his roguish ways, he still seemed to respect their relative social positions—it had taken some arguing on her part to convince him to treat her as he would any raw recruit.

Guy, on the other hand, was becoming a bit of a handful, never doing anything untoward, but always making it seem as though he was staking his claim when he was around her. He pulled her chair out for her at the table, a table that Allan seemed to no longer be welcome at; he held her arm to guide her to her seat, from her seat, down the last stair, up the first stair; he helped her to mount and dismount her horse if she went riding and insisted on accompanying her everywhere. The only time she could get rid of him was when she was practicing with Allan, but only because she flatly refused to let him help her practice—and even then she could swear she felt his eyes on her. It was no wonder Allan hadn't tried anything. Guy was becoming quite annoying with all of his solicitousness and Deirdre wanted desperately to tell him to go away, but she knew she had to stay on his good side to keep him distracted.

As for Allan, she would simply have to get him alone somewhere.

"Owww." She cried out as Allan tagged her in the butt with the sword, catching her off guard. "Bloody 'oreson!"

Allan's mouth dropped. "Where did _that_ come from, _Lady_ Deirdre?" 

"Don't you worry about that. You've got bigger problems." Laughing, she swung at him, catching him on the arm with the sword before he had a chance to defend himself. He dropped back to a defensive position and they began sparring in earnest. The fight ended when Deirdre allowed herself to be spun about and captured by Allan, his arm over her throat, sword point to her chin. They were both breathing heavily, laughter on the edge of their lips, when Guy strode up.

"Well, well, well, isn't this a pretty picture. You should get yourself inside Deirdre—I've had your maids bring you a hot bath. You wouldn't want to smell like the stables at dinner, would you?"

His chiding tone immediately sobered the two contenders and Allan let her go.

"Of course not, Sir Guy." Deirdre handed her sword to Allan. "Thank you, Allan. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing, Milady." He grinned at her impudently before turning to walk inside to the armory.

Deirdre turned back to scoop up her cloak and found it already in Sir Guy's hands. She held out her hand for it, but he ignored her and closed the distance between them to swing the cloak over her shoulders and close the pin at her neck. Frowning at him, she thanked him, then turned to go back inside the castle; she was too slow however, as she found Guy's hand on her elbow, guiding her as though she didn't know the way.

"When will you be done with all this silliness, Deirdre?" His tone was full of rebuke, stirring her ire even more. 

"I don't know what you mean, Sir Guy." Despite his informal use of her name, she refused to drop his title.

"I mean…" she could hear the anger edging his voice, "this _training_. It's not befitting a lady of your station."

"And what is befitting a lady of my station, Sir Guy? Getting killed? Being ravished by some outlaw because I can't defend myself?" Guy's constant presence was getting on her last nerve, and now he was trying to tell her what to do?

Guy stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her. His eyes were wide in shock but narrowed as he bent to bring his face closer to hers. "You should mind your tongue. There are many ears about," he hissed.

"You. Are. Not. My. Husband. Nor are you my father,"

Deirdre eyes sparked fire and Guy knew he had pushed her too far. Obviously, her father had spoiled her and it would be left to him to retrain her. But not now. Not before he had married her. A hasty, but temporary, retreat was in order. 

"You are right. I'm sorry. I am not very good at expressing my…feelings. I just worry for your reputation." He dropped his head and closed his eyes.

Deirdre's body relaxed.

"Please, Sir Guy. Please give me some room to breathe. I'm not used to having someone so…close…to me so much." She smiled softly at him as she raised his chin from his chest.  His eyes opened to look down at her. He was hiding something. Deirdre frowned. "And as for my reputation, I am not worried, so you should not be. But I thank you for your concern. Now, I believe that there's a bath waiting for me?"

As Guy reached for her again, Deirdre gently disengaged her arm. "Please, Sir Guy, I know the way to my rooms."

As he watched her walk off, Guy muttered heatedly, "Yes, but do you know your place?"


	12. Winter Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What to do on a rainy day in Nottingham Castle?

Chapter Twelve: Winter Storm

Deirdre sighed as she looked out the window at the empty training grounds. There would be no practice today. The wind blew some of the icy rain into her room and one of her maids, a brown haired, green-eyed girl named Katy, came over to her.

"Beggin' your pardon mistress, but some of the girls are gettin' cold and you don't want to catch a chill yourself."

"Of course, Katy. You're right."

Deidre reached out and closed the shutters, immediately darkening the room and her mood. She went over to a table and played with her hairbrush and a couple of trinkets she'd acquired three years ago in London. Watching the light from the fire catch the sapphires in the necklace, she suddenly smiled. Allan's eyes were that color and she wanted to see them again—today. There would be no training, but then, hadn't she just been thinking that she needed to get him alone? Where better to be alone than in a castle full of people? Everyone would be huddled in the main rooms for warmth and community. Today would be a perfect day. Today, she'd have Allan show her around the castle. Perhaps if she got him alone, he'd loosen up; and if he didn't, she'd loosen him up. Her smile widened and she called Katy to her.

"Katy, I'd like you to go and bring Allan A' Dale back here please."

"Of course, mistress. What shall I tell him it's about?"

"You may tell him it's about time he showed me around the castle."

"My lady?" Katy's brows drew down and her mouth turned in confusion. Nottingham was a castle, just like any other, she imagined. Her mistress must be bored senseless to want to walk around it—and with Allan A' Dale, traitor to Robin Hood! She could never tell her mistress of her feelings of anger toward Allan; after all, he had once fought against the nobility and now he had joined them. Lady Deirdre was good and kind, but still nobility—she would see Allan's "betrayal" as coming to his senses.

"Go. Now please, Katy."

"Of course, my lady." Katy curtsied and hurried from the room. In the hallway, she stopped for a moment, trying to think of where she would find Allan—probably asleep, the lazy lout. She chose her direction and wandered off, head down in thought, trying to figure a way to make her mistress change her mind about spending time with Allan. She was so deep in thought when she came around a corner that she bumped into a hurrying Sir Guy. She stammered out an apology.

~*~

Guy had been hurrying to Lady Deirdre's rooms. He needed to make things right from yesterday so that when the time came, she would not look upon him poorly. Her not showing up for breakfast that morning had left him a perfect excuse to check on her. As he came around the corner to the East Wing, he bumped into a woman. Looking down at her in disdain, he began to yell at her before he realized who she was.

"You are one of the Lady Deirdre's maids, are you not?"

"I am, my lord." Katy's eyes went wide; the only one with a shorter temper in the castle than Sir Guy of Gisbourne was the Sheriff of Nottingham himself.

"Where is your mistress?"

"She is in her room, my lord."

"She is well?" Guy asked solicitously; it was unusual to find Deirdre confined to her rooms before dark.

"Yes, my lord." Katy's stomach flopped over, and she had to swallow against the threat of vomit at Sir Guy's continued questioning.

"So where are you off to then?" Guy turned up the corner of his mouth in a smile that usually set women at ease.

"Lady Deirdre sent me off to fetch Allan A' Dale, my lord." Katy smiled. She had her solution to the problem of Allan A' Dale and all she had to do was tell the truth.

"Why?" Guy's voice had gone even lower, more menacing.

Katy blanched. "She…she wanted him to show her around the castle."

"For what purpose?"

"I don't know, my lord. It was not my place to ask."

"Consider your errand done. I will show her around."

Katy watched Sir Guy walk away in relief; the further away he was, the better.

~*~

Dierdre had just lowered her hair from having one of her maids help her on with the sapphire necklace when there was a knock at her door. She had dressed carefully to look her most tempting and she smiled in anticipation of how Allan would react. She turned to the door, ready to greet him and found Sir Guy instead. Her smile wavered, but only for a moment.

"Sir Guy, whatever are you doing here?"

"I came by to check on you since you didn't come down to breakfast."

"That was very kind of you, Sir Guy, but I am fine. I had one of my maids bring food up. Thank you for checking." With that, Deirdre turned back to her table and popped a piece of bread into her mouth.

Guy cleared his throat. "I was hoping…"

Deirdre looked back at him, one eyebrow raised questioningly as she swallowed the bread.

"I was hoping that since it is raining today and there is nothing that needs my immediate attention, that you would allow me to show you the castle. It occurred to me that you may not have seen it all yet since you've been…training."

Deirdre found something odd happening—she was at a loss for words. Her father would have laughed and clapped his hands in approval at how she had just been outmaneuvered. "That is very kind, Sir Guy, but I have just sent for Allan…" She stopped at his hang-dog expression.

He looked up as she paused. "Please, Lady Deirdre." He addressed her formally on purpose, realizing that she became uncomfortable when he was informal. "I would very much like the chance to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I would feel better if I could do something that would please you."

Deirdre sighed. Sir Guy had backed her into a corner. She looked helplessly back at her maids, "Tell Allan that I am sorry, but I had to step out." She looked back to Guy. "Shall we?"


	13. The Alcove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss in an alcove on a rainy day.

Chapter Thirteen: The Alcove

Deirdre did her best to steer Guy toward the more populated sections of the castle, but he seemed to have other ideas. She really did not want to be alone with him, but Guy knew the castle well, and it was not long before he had steered her into a corner with no one around. He stopped in his tracks and as Deirdre looked up at him nervously; she found herself trapped, unable to get around him.

"Excuse me, Sir Guy."

Instead of moving, he stayed where he was and placed a hand on her arm; his other hand he put under her chin, effectively holding her in place. "I would like to talk to you, Deirdre."

"But Sir Guy, we talk all the time." She tried to make light of it as she pushed against his chest—she may as well have tried to move one of the castle walls.

He looked at her earnestly, forcing her gaze to meet his. "I don't mean light conversations, Deirdre." His continued use of her name without her title was frightening her. "I was hoping to continue our discussion from Christmas."

"You want to talk about my father's travels?" Deirdre was deliberately being obtuse, wanting to avoid that conversation at all costs, the one about marriage contracts.

Guy arched an eyebrow at her; he was used to Marian acting like a skittish filly, but Deirdre was usually more confident, more bold. "I am being serious, Deirdre. You do remember our chat in the mill?"

"Sir Guy...."

"Deirdre, you promised to marry me if—Allan—did not have feelings for you." Guy spat the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "It has been over a month. I do not see the two of you together other than at your...practice. It is obvious the man does not have feelings for you or he would have expressed them to you by now."

"But, I...I mean...." Deirdre flushed and shifted her eyes, pulling her chin from Guy's grip. It struck a nerve that Guy was expressing her own recent thoughts. Allan was impudent and fun, but he had never said or done anything to lead their relationship any further; now here she was, up against a wall in more ways than one, with Guy declaring his "love."

"Deirdre, you know I am right. Not only that, given the choice between the two of us, who do you think your father would pick—Allan, who has nothing, or me? Face it Deirdre, he's a commoner and you lower yourself by even thinking of him that way. I have land, position, wealth, a title-he has what I give him." His words were a strange echo of Marian's words of a few weeks ago, and Deirdre found herself getting angry for Allan, upset that everyone seemed to hold him in such low regard.

Allan was a good man and when he smiled at her, her heart constricted in her chest. She had heard rumors of his past, of a betrayal; that betrayal seemed to haunt him because his smile never went all the way to his eyes. Whenever she complimented him, he threw it off with a laugh, as though he didn't feel he deserved it. Allan was complicated; in his pain, his seeming lack of self-worth, he had held her at bay, but she sensed that deep inside, he really was attracted to her.

"Honestly, Sir Guy, this is how you speak of your friends? I would not wish to be your enemy in that case." Deirdre's blue eyes sparked fire and she actually succeeded in moving him when she shoved against him this time.

Guy back-tracked verbally while regaining his position physically, catching hold of her arm again as he apologized. "I'm sorry, Deirdre. I'm only looking out for your welfare because I care about you. Allan is a good man, but his prospects.... And can I help it if I would rather that you chose me? I want you for my wife. I will make a good husband."

Guy turned on his charming, sideways smile that always seemed to throw people off guard, and watched it work its magic on Deirdre as she softened slightly. He bent his head and brought his lips down on hers, feeling her soften and give in. As the kiss broke, he felt her sigh against his lips, "Guy." A small smile played on his lips before he kissed her again; this time, he was more demanding, feeling more at ease since she had dropped the formality of his title, but he soon found her struggling away from him.

"What is it?"

His kiss had felt good, but just not right somehow; she wanted it to be Allan, but she had to be careful not to push Guy completely away. "Guy, I like you, but I do not love you—not that way."

"Then we are ahead of many other couples who marry." His voice was deep and sincere—he truly believed what he said.

"I'm sorry, Guy, I cannot marry someone I don't love; it's why I am still unmarried and why my father will not force me into marriage. He married for love and he will not have it any other way for his children."

"Liking can become love, Deirdre."

"Perhaps it can Guy, but before a wedding, not after it."

Deirdre pushed past, and this time Guy allowed her by, then turned to follow. He was disappointed and a bit angry, but he would bide his time; he had made headway after all with her dropping the "Sir" before his name, and perhaps his messenger would return soon with good news. Even a man as lenient as her father sounded must be nearly at the end of his patience with her.

~*~

Allan was wandering around the castle, looking for Deirdre. Deirdre's maid, Katy, had told him that her mistress was walking around the castle and wanted Allan to join her. He was thrilled at the chance this might give him to find out if her friendliness was just that or if it could possibly be something more. She was always so nice, and even though she was a lady, she didn't always act like one—or sound like one. The way she joked with him made him feel like he was her equal, which was something he didn't even get from Marian and certainly not from Guy or the sheriff. She seemed to respect him, and many times he had seen her looking at him in such a way that if she hadn't been a lady, he definitely would have kissed her. She was the type of woman who made a man feel as though he could take on the world, and when he was around her, he didn't feel so low about his betrayal of the gang. When he was around her, he felt good about himself. He had always been cocky and self-assured, but had never felt good about himself, not really.

Today was the day, he just knew it. Today, he would show her how he really felt; somewhere private where he could keep his dignity if she was just being nice. Today he would kiss her and she'd react one of two ways—she would knock him out or she would kiss him back; he really was hoping for the kiss. He smiled as he thought of how she would feel in his arms, of how she would just melt up against him. Kinda like that, he thought as he rounded a corner and stopped dead, embarrassed by the sight of two lovers caught in an embrace. A lot like that, he amended when he realized it was Guy and Deirdre.

His heart sank to his feet and he felt sick, his good mood gone in a heartbeat. She definitely was not fighting Guy. He turned quickly, and quietly made his way back toward the hall. _God, what an idiot I am to think she'd like me that way._ He strode out the door and across the courtyard to the stables as the icy rain pelted down on him, mingling with tears of helpless rage. He had heard Deirdre's voice as soft, indecipherable murmurs and heard Guy speak of marriage. Allan was confused and angry, thinking that Guy had been interested in Marian, yet now here he was seducing Deirdre. Robin would never realize how alike he and Guy were—wanting, and getting, it all—leaving poor sods like Allan to scratch for scraps. _I should've known I'm not good enough for her!_ He unsheathed his sword and started swinging at the logs used for target practice, the rain making the footing treacherous and his hold slippery.


	14. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre decides to discover Allan's feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not updating last weekend, guys. Our first granddaughter--Lunafreya the Beautiful--was born a week ago Thursday. We arrived in town just 40 minutes after her birth, and spent the weekend basking in her presence. This weekend, we were helping a friend move, as we will be next weekend. Since I am not just cutting and pasting from ff dot net, but rather trying to improve each chapter before posting it here, sometimes it takes a bit of time. At any rate, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen: Confrontation

Deirdre paused just outside the door to the castle. The icy rains of the previous day had given way to a warming sun that was fast melting the icicles along the overhangs of so many of the buildings. The steady _drip drip_ along with the warmth was hypnotic. Someone called out an oath, breaking her reverie and she looked down toward the hustle and bustle of the merchants and servants scurrying about the courtyard. Mud splashed from their passing, but did not touch her at the top of the stairs.

She scurried down the stairs and around the corner, passing by the stables, her boots squelching with every step. At the end of the barn, the training grounds opened up, and she stopped for a moment in the shelter of the barn, listening but not seen. Grunting and cursing and the sound of steel on steel came to her ears. She peeked around the corner to find Allan and two of her guards practicing. Allan was using two swords, and she could tell he was new to it. He was having trouble dividing his attention, and his left arm was noticeably drooping. Martin stood with his back to her, shouting encouragement and pointers.

Despite his lack of expertise, he looked good. The men were all shirtless, the sun making their sweat-slick torsos glisten. Their muscles rippled with their efforts. Mud splashed up onto their legs. Deirdre frowned as one of her men got under Allan’s guard on his left and nicked his ribs. Allan spun and almost lost his footing. The mud was dangerous to be working with real steel. Martin knew better.

One of the guards looked up and smiled at her, then bellowed as Allan got in a good hit with the flat of his blade to the man's arm. "'Oy!" The guard turned and bowed to her, "milady." Her other guard mirrored the first. Martin turned and smiled.

She licked her lips and smoothed down her pants before smoothing her hair, as well. Guy had been…aggressive yesterday. But his words had struck home. What if Allan was merely being respectful and had no actual interest in her as a woman? _I’ll find out. Even if I have to be the one to try to kiss him. I might die a spinster or Lady de Gisbourne waiting for him to kiss me first._

She stepped forward and smiled back at the men, frowning when he gaze fell on Allan. Fire flashed in his eyes before he bent low, his posture almost exaggerated. "Lady Deirdre."

"Good morning, gentlemen. Am I too early for my lesson?" She raised her sword and grinned. The anger she had seen on Allan's face had disturbed her; she wasn't really sure that it was directed at her, but his completely formal greeting had her baffled.

Allan straightened as he answered her. "I can't give you your lesson today, Milady. Why don't you ask Guy? I'm sure he'd be glad to teach you, Milady."

"But I want you to teach me." His constant use of "milady" and the obvious sarcasm in his voice was already getting on her nerves.

"But I'm busy, Milady."

The venom in his voice set Deirdre's teeth on edge. "Oh, really?" Her eyes narrowed and her voice was tight. "Martin, please leave and take your men with you. You’ve earned a good breakfast.”

Eyes wide, the men hurried away—they had seen their mistress like this before and did not want to be anywhere around when she let go the reins on her anger. Except Martin. He paused and glanced down at her, mouth set and eyes narrow. “I will be right back. You will be all right?”

Deirdre spoke through her teeth. “Yes.”

Martin nodded and sauntered off. She waited a minute for him to be gone before approaching Allan.

"Sir Guy is not the one that I want,” she growled.

"Oh yeah? Well you coulda fooled me. Milady." Allan stood, swords by his side, still not understanding the danger he was in.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind. It doesn't matter, Milady."

"Stop calling me ‘milady!'"

"Beggin' your pardon, Mistress."

He turned and walked to the table where the men kept their shirts and a bucket of water for cleaning their sweat or wounds. He placed the swords on the table and grabbed for his shirt. Turning his back on her had been the last straw on Deirdre’s already over-loaded emotions. She attacked, driving him quickly away from his own blades and to the ground. He lay there, stunned for a moment, as Deirdre straddled him, sword under his chin.

"What. Is. Your. Problem?" Deirdre spoke between clenched teeth.

Allan experienced a moment of panic as he felt the sword prick the skin under his jaw and a thin trickle of blood traveled down his neck. He was afraid to move, afraid to talk, afraid to breathe—and very, very aroused.

She sat on his hips, breathing heavily, hair mussed and falling around her face, framing her eyes which had turned to the color of an icy lake. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly parted; he had never, ever wanted to kiss her so badly and was stunned when she threw away the sword and leaned down to place her lips on his. He knew it was wrong, was certain there were eyes on them, yet he found himself wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss; he figured if he was going to die for this, he'd make it count.

Deirdre was elated as she felt his lips part, felt his arms go around her as he pulled her close, deepening the kiss. They pulled apart quickly, guiltily, as Martin came flying around the corner. He had obviously been keeping an eye on them. "Are you all right, milady?" He helped her up and stepped closer to add quietly, "You should be careful—there are eyes everywhere in Nottingham."

Deirdre brushed the mud from her clothes to no avail and bent to retrieve her filthy sword, trying to clean the mud from it, as well. "Yes, thank you Martin. Allan and I were sparring when I fell—he tried to break my fall and keep me from injury. Thank you, Allan."

Allan swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "Your welcome, Mlady," he nearly whispered; and this time there was no sarcasm in his voice, only wonder.

"You should go and get into something clean and dry before you catch your death, Lady Deirdre." Martin's tone was more that of father or husband than of a servant and Allan narrowed his eyes at the man, particularly when Deirdre meekly obeyed him. She took a few steps, then turned to look back over her shoulder.

"Allan, I would like to go for a ride after the mid-day meal if the weather holds. Will you accompany me?"

Allan stuttered, "I… I'd love to, Milady."

"Good. Make sure you're cleaned up." As she walked off, a huge grin split Allan's face and Martin glowered at him before turning to leave.


	15. The Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allan and Deirdre get to know one another better.

Chapter Fifteen: The Cave

  
Alemah and Samar pranced excitedly as Deirdre and Allan walked them through the gates of the castle. It was still warm and sunny out, one of those days in winter that gives the hope of the spring to come and as the warm air filled their nostrils, the horses snorted, wanting to run. Deirdre gave Alemah her head first, Allan following suit quickly as he watched the gray mare pull away. Their escort whipped their horses into a run also, not wanting to lose sight of the pair, especially after Martin's admonition that they be kept in view at all times. Over the top of the rise, Deirdre brought Alemah down to a walk again, laughing as she looked over at Allan, who grinned back at her and patted the horse’s neck. They walked along in companiable silence, pulling ahead slowly; Deirdre made sure their escort was out of hearing before she started talking to Allan.

"So why were you so angry earlier?" She tilted her head slightly in his direction to gage his reaction.

Allan looked uncomfortable; he cleared his throat before replying. "I wasn't angry."

"You were angry." She frowned at him with her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

He looked at her, and grinned sheepishly under her steady gaze. "All right, I was angry."

"But why?"

"Look, I…I saw you with Guy yesterday. In the castle."

"And?" Realization dawned in Deirdre's eyes. "Oh. You mean, you _saw_ us."

Allan reddened, looking uncomfortable.

"Yes, Sir Guy kissed me. And yes, for a minute, I gave in. It's complicated Allan, but I can't have Sir Guy angry with me. And he's not unattractive."

"So do you love Guy?" Allan was surprised at her honesty, although a bit upset that she had not only found Guy attractive, but had actually kissed him _back_.

"No."

"But I heard 'im talking about marriage."

"You must not've heard the whole conversation."

"I saw you kissing 'im and I didn't really want to stick around, if you know what I mean."

"I told Sir Guy I would not marry someone I didn't love, and that I didn't love him."

"And that didn't make Guy angry?" Allan asked incredulously.

Deirdre snorted, the sound quite un-ladylike. "No. If anything, I think he viewed it as a challenge."

"So…you kissed Guy but you don't like 'im. And you kissed me…"

"I _do_ like Sir Guy, just not that way. And I _do_ like you."

"Really?" Allan's smile lit up his face.

"That way."

"What?"

"I like you that way."

"Really?" Allan looked like he would fairly burst with pride.

"Really." Deirdre grinned at him mischievously.

Allan was silent for a moment, then he asked, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why d'ya like _me_?"

"Why wouldn't I like you?"

"Well, I mean, for one thing, I got no money."

"I've lots."

"I've no land."

"I've got holdings here and in Ireland."

"I've no prospects."

"You've plenty."

"I'm common."

"Not even close. So how are we going to shake our escort so I can be alone with you and have a proper…conversation?"  
They had entered Sherwood by now and Allan's pulse raced at her implied meaning. They slowed their horses almost to a stop before they kicked them into a gallop and, with Allan's knowledge of Sherwood, easily escaped from the others. Before long, he had led her to one of the gang's old bad weather caves; they led the horses inside and Allan had a fire started in no time.

~*~

  
Deirdre sat down next to the fire with a sigh. Allan wiped sweaty palms on his pants before he sat next to her. She was sitting with her knees drawn up, arms around her legs, loosely clasping her wrist in one hand as she gazed into the fire; Allan mirrored her. They sat for a moment in silence as the fire crackled, warming the damp air of the cave. Allan was nervous, afraid to make the first move, but wanting desperately to hold her. He couldn't stand the silence any longer and just when he started to move closer to her, Deirdre began to chuckle.

"What?" He stopped moving, afraid she was laughing at him.

"I was just thinking of the look on Martin's face when we get back to the castle."

Allan grinned, then sobered quickly. "You realize 'e'll have my hide on his wall."

"Like he's not going to flay me alive too?"

Both of them began to laugh at the thought.

"So what's the story with Martin anyway?" Allan asked once they had calmed down a bit.

"What do you mean?"

"'e doesn't exactly act like a servant."

"Martin's been with our family for ages—he and Da were boys together. I guess he's always been more of an uncle than a servant to us."

They sat quietly for a bit longer, then Deirdre said, "So, who are you, Allan?"

"What?" Allan was startled out of thoughts of launching himself at Deirdre and rolling around on the dirt floor of the cave with her.

"Tell me about yourself."

"There ain't much to tell."

"There's everything to tell. Where are you from? Who's your family? What did you do before you were Guy's man?"

Deirdre's questions made Allan think about his past, something he tried to avoid at all costs. His father had been a blacksmith, his mother had died ypung, and he and his brother Tom had been a huge disappointment to their father by constantly getting into trouble, and by not following in their dad's footsteps. The pain of who he had been before he had become Guy's man ate at him daily, as did the loneliness; he missed his friends terribly and would have given anything to go back in time and change things. He got up quickly and strode angrily to the back of the cave to check on the horses, his eyes misting. He didn't realize Deirdre had followed him until she touched his arm.

"I'm sorry Allan. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that I like you, but I don't know why really. I don't know anything about you, not really, and when my father comes…" she stopped abruptly and flushed. Allan thought he'd never seen a prettier sight.

"What about when your father comes? Do you think 'e'll have mercy on me if 'e knows who I am and where I come from? 'Poor, common lad all alone couldn't 'elp 'imself.'" Allan had made a funny face and lowered his voice, apparently to mimic her father and despite his actual words, Deirdre couldn't help laughing at his tone.

Somehow, she managed to ask between giggles, "Mercy? For what?"

"For this." Allan pulled her close and lowered his mouth to hers, holding her as he kissed her deeply and desperately. He wanted to erase the pain of his past, if only for a moment, and was shocked to feel her move even closer to him and open her mouth to him. _Why would this beautiful lady want me, a commoner?_ And yet, unbelievably, it seemed she did. Moments later, as the kiss broke, he laid his forehead against hers and tried to control his breathing.

"Deirdre, why d'ya want me?" He bit his tongue, but too late.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Look, like I told you, I ain't got nothin'. I am nothin'. And if you knew all the things I done…I just want to know if you're playin' with me or what?"

"First of all Allan, you are not nothing—you're a good man who's made some mistakes. Secondly, you're not the only one with things in your past you'd rather weren't known to everyone." Deirdre was looking earnestly into his eyes; she seemed to come to a decision and pulled away to lead him back to the fire. She sat again, patted the ground for him to join her, then leaned back into his arms, hoping that when she was done talking, he'd still want to hold her.


	16. Confessions of a Noble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more of Deirdre's past.

Chapter Sixteen: Confessions of a Noble

Allan closed his eyes and leaned his head down on Deirdre's, inhaling the clean scent of her hair. For a woman who wasn't afraid to get dirty, she was absolutely rabid about cleanliness. He smiled and closed his eyes, the warmth from the fire and Deirdre's body making him drowsy and content. He had never felt like this before, just happy to sit companionably with a woman, except for maybe Djaq and Marian, and  _they_  had never kissed him the way Deirdre had.

Gathering her thoughts, Deirdre sighed and finally spoke. "Is it true what you said about yourself before? That you are all alone in this world?"

Allan paused, realizing he'd revealed more than he meant to. "Yeah."

Deirdre waited, giving Allan a chance to elaborate; when he remained quiet, she asked, "What happened?"

"Look, Deirdre…"

"You don't trust me." Deirdre couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice.

"That's not it. It's just…. I don't like to talk about the past, all right?"

"All right." Deirdre sat up and moved out of his arms, then got up and went to the horses. "I suppose we should go then."

"Deirdre, please don't be like that."

Deirdre exhaled in frustration, blowing hair out of her eyes. "Allan, you don't trust me. That's fine, but that leaves us with nothing. I can't sit around a fire alone in a cave with a man who doesn't trust me. I thought we had something, but I guess I was wrong."

Deirdre knew she was being petty, knew she should have revealed her own past to gain Allan's trust rather than shutting him out, but she just couldn't seem to help herself. She had never felt this way about anyone before and it truly hurt her that he didn't trust her; the fact that she was afraid to let him in on her own dirty little secrets was beside the point in her mind. Angrily, she wiped the tears that were beginning to blur her vision and gathered Alemah's reins, walking her toward the cave mouth.

Allan watched Deirdre walk away, scared but knowing that he couldn't let her go. Heaving a big sigh, he called out, "Deirdre, please don't do this."

Deirdre kept walking. She was almost to the entrance and Allan began to panic—he had a feeling that if she got outside, their relationship would be over before it had even had a chance to start. "My da was a blacksmith, my mum died when I was young, the sheriff 'ung my brother Tom last year. I betrayed my friends and now I'm alone. Please don't leave."

The unexpected words stopped her in her tracks. She turned, looked back over her shoulder and smiled forlornly at the look of apprehension on Allan's face before bringing Alemah back to the back of the cave. After re-hobbling the mare, she turned to Allan, who was sweating profusely by now. She walked up to him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard. "Now was that so difficult?" she breathed against his mouth.

Despite himself, he began laughing in sheer relief. " _You_  are difficult."

"Allan A' Dale, I have never been so insulted in all my life."

Deirdre did her best to look stern, but failed miserably when Allan responded, "I find that 'ard to believe."

The pair grinned at each other, then Deirdre sobered. She looked into Allan's eyes beseechingly, "So what happened?"

Alan was suddenly wary again. "What d'ya mean?"

"I mean, you've given me the short version of your life, but I want details, Allan." She knew she was pushing him, that he might not give her more details, not without something from her. Not wanting to talk about herself yet, she kissed him instead, hoping that would help loosen his tongue. "Please."

He sighed. All his prior relationships with women had been simple-a quick roll in the hay, then running off quickly before their dads came after him. He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Deirdre, and the whole idea of sharing himself with her was frightening to him. He didn't open up to people-it only led to pain. He went to kiss her again, but she pulled back, arms still around his neck, and looked into his eyes. She saw the doubt there, the fear, and sighed as well.

"Look I...." they both spoke at once, then burst out laughing.

"I'll go first, I owe you that much, Allan." Deirdre swallowed, seemed to steel herself. "First you should know that this doesn't leave this cave." Allan nodded agreement and Deirdre plunged on. "You see Allan, the reason that I...that I don't always act like a lady...the reason is...."

She looked up into his eyes and he saw something he wasn't used to seeing in her eyes-fear, doubt, uncertainty. "Deirdre, you don't 'ave to...."

"No, I do. You deserve to know why I don't turn up my nose at you. You see Allan, I'm not exactly nobility miself." Her accent had thickened as she spoke.

Allan lowered his brows in consternation. "I don't understand."

"My da is O'Niall. The O'Niall's have been advisors to royalty since Jazus was a boy. My mum was a kitchen girl. They weren't supposed to, but they fell in love. My granddad found out and sent my da on a tour of the world; neither of them knew my mum was already carrying me. Mum was proud and strong—she wouldn't go to Da's family for help. I ate well as a child, but food was all I 'ad. I learned to steal early on to pay for the little extras, like clothes or medicines; I kept some money aside so I could hire someone to teach me to read and write. I wanted to be ready when my da came back so I wouldn't embarrass him. Despite his father's protests, my da came right back to our village, where he found Mum. And me. I was nine at the time. That winter my granddad got sick and died. The next spring, my da married my mum and brought us to live with him in his manor house. Da hired somebody to teach me more reading, writing, history, and Latin. Plus speakin' better." Deirdre grinned and winked at Allan. "So you see Allan, that's why I don't treat you like you're common. 'Cause to me, you're not."

 


	17. Confessions of a Peasant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allan shares his past--lumps and all--with Deirdre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On ff dot net, this was posted as Chapter 16 1/2 because putting this with Chapter 16 made it too unwieldy. I don't know why I didn't just call it Chapter 17, and will going forward. If you're reading it there, not only will you get the older version (not updated for oopsies), but the chapter titles may be off. I still suggest patience and reading it here, but I'll leave that up to you. :-)
> 
> Also, since Allan's past was never really mentioned except for a couple of small hints (dad a blacksmith, being from Rochsdale, brother Tom stealing from him), my story of Allan's past is pure conjecture. But then, that's what a lot of fan fiction is, isn't it?

Chapter Seventeen: Confessions of a Peasant

Allan stood, shocked at her confession, and for the first time, felt hope that maybe her dad wouldn't kill him. "So your da…so you…" Allan's tongue didn't want to work.

"Allan, my da married for love—he didn't care who her family was. He won't care who your family is either—or even if you've got one or not."

Allan had a thought that made him grin, "Does Guy know about your mum?"

Deirdre’s eyes went wide. "No. No one knows except you. And of course, my men. Not even Marian knows. I prefer it that way, Allan. A street urchin is who I  _was_ , not who I am. So, can we keep this just between us?"

"Yeah, yeah, o' course we can." Allan bent to kiss her, but she pulled her head back and away.

"Your turn."

"What?" He lowered his brows in consternation, focused on getting a kiss.

"I told you about my past. Now I want details about yours."

Allan smirked, rolling his eyes, and then sighed. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"For starters, what happened to your mum?"

Allan pulled out of her embrace. He paced up and down in the little cave, running his hand through his hair and staring at the ground. After a few laps, he stopped and turned back to her. He bit his lip and looked up, his eyes watery. "I was nine. Tom was four. She got sick one winter, like your granddad. She was gone come spring."

"You loved her." It was a statement, not a question.

"O' course I loved 'er. She was my mum."

"Yes, of course. Tell me what happened after that."

Allan swallowed. "Da grieved. He worked all the time and didn't have time for Tom and me. He didn't even have time to feed us-he ignored us, always workin' or in the pub. Only time 'e paid us any mind was when we got caught stealin' from the miller or some farmer and then 'e only gave us the back of 'is hand.” Allan rubbed his cheek, seemingly lost in the memory. His eyes hardened.

“So Tom and me got good at not gettin' caught. We was lucky the people in Roxdale felt bad for us, else we'da been in prison or without a hand. We left one night when Da decided he needed the fat purse was bein' offered for us and the castle guard came knockin' on our door. We slipped out the back and ain't been back since." Allan had ducked his head, ashamed to look in her eyes, afraid he would see disapproval there.

Instead, Deirdre stepped back up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "So how did Tom die?" she probed gently, her voice soft. "You said the sheriff hung him. Do you mean this sheriff?" She bent her head, trying to see into his eyes and when he did look up to answer her, she nearly stepped back from the anguish and rage she saw there. It took all of her considerable courage to stand her ground, but she realized that his anger was not directed at her.

"Yeah, this sheriff." Allan almost spat the words out. "Tom got caught tryin' to steal from one of the sheriff's friends. The sheriff hung 'im before we could rescue 'im."

"'We.' You and your 'friends.'"

"Yeah."

"Is that why you betrayed them? Because they didn't help you rescue your brother in time?"

"Na. It wasn't their fault. Guy caught me. In a pub one night. I was tired of havin' no money and decided that if Robin wasn't givin' us any of the stuff we stole..."

"You mean Robin Hood? The man's name is spoken with more reverence than God's in this area."

"Yeah, well he ain't God," Allan sneered.

Deirdre noted the rage, but continued on. She wanted to know his side of things. "So you were with Robin Hood's gang?"

"Yeah. But like I said, the pay was 'orrible, so I decided to make a bit o' extra scratch. You know, somethin' for me. If Robin had just given us all a _little_ somethin' instead o' givin' it  _all_  to the poor, I mighta never walked into that pub that day and I might still be with 'em. But no, high and mighty Robin. 'e never knew what it was like to be poor. If the king comes 'ome, 'e'll have land and position again. I thought,  _what'll I 'ave?_  So I went to win some money. I'm good with games o' chance. Problem was, Guy caught me." Allan stopped again, hanging his head again as he remembered the fear, the pain.

Deirdre touched her hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "What happened when Guy caught you?"

He swallowed. "'e brought me to the prison, asked me about the gang, about where they were. I wouldn't tell 'im, so 'e had me tortured." Deirdre's eyes went wide in shock at this bit of information. "They tortured me all day, and at night 'e came to me again. 'e said if I just gave 'im a little information, 'e'd let me go. Nothin' bad, not like 'where's the gang?' or anythin', just stuff like, what route we was gonna rob someone on or somethin', so they could change the route and the money would be safe. He said I could live and tell 'im little stuff and get paid for it or 'e'd kill me. That was the deal. Live or die. Tell 'im or don't. I chose to live. And what'd I get for it? Thrown out, beaten, without so much as a 'by your leave!'" Allan was riled up now, his color high, his breathing heavy.

Deirdre tried to calm him, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, then his lips. Allan fought for control-he was angry now, thinking about the way he had been treated first by Guy, then by Robin-and he wanted to be violent, not gentle. It didn't help that Deirdre was answering his mood and the kiss became passionate quickly. They broke apart a moment later, pushing away from each other. They stood staring at each other, breathing heavily. Deirdre was the first to grin, then they both broke out laughing at the intensity of the situation.

~*~

Later that day, Allan and Deirdre rode back into town, chatting amiably until they came upon a very unamused-looking Martin, whose look only darkened more as they burst out laughing. Martin turned to go back to the stable to call off the search he had initiated while Deirdre and Allan dismounted and gave the horses over to stable-hands. Deirdre stood facing Allan. "Well, I'll see you tonight at dinner?"

"You know Guy's got me eating in the kitchen."

"I'll convince him that you should be in the hall."

"How are you gonna to do that?"

"I have my ways." Deirdre waggled her eyebrows at him.

Allan frowned, "Look, I know what I told ye back there, and Guy's not all bad, but 'e _is_ dangerous and Marian's already played 'im. He burned her house down and threw her dad in prison for it. I don't know 'ow 'e'd react a second time."

Deirdre’s eyes went round. "Good Lord.” She frowned as she recovered. “Look Allan, I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself. Besides, it's not like he'd hurt _me_ —Da would have him drawn and quartered."

Deirdre spoke matter-of-factly and Allan was suddenly worried again about her father's reaction to him. "He, um, he 'asn't done that before, 'as he, your da?" Allan swallowed nervously.

Deirdre had her back to him so he couldn't see the mischievous look on her face as she replied. "No, no." She turned back to him, looking pensive. "Of course, a couple of my suitors have disappeared rather suddenly. Hmm. Well, I'm sure it was nothing. Cold feet or something."

Allan's face was ashen and Deirdre couldn't help laughing as she looked at him. "I'm joking. Really Allan, it's all right. I like you so my da will like you. I really wouldn't worry about him."

Allan glared at her. "I'm not bein' funny but, you're not the one who 'as to worry about 'im. It's not like he's gonna draw and quarter 'is own daughter."

"True enough, especially if he hasn't done it yet."

~*~

That night Allan was seated back at the dinner table. He sat next to Guy, who was glowering; Marian looked nervous, the sheriff amused, and Deirdre seemed to not notice the charged air as she chatted amiably with everyone about the fun she had had on her ride earlier. The cave, nor her and Allan's kissing, were ever mentioned of course.

 


	18. Frustrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you court someone you're not allowed to court?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just discovered that apparently, some people use reading apps that read the stories to them. Honestly, I hadn't even thought about that, and I'm glad it was brought to my attention. So when folks use the apps, the voice translates the "~*~" that many of us use as scene breaks as the actual words "tilde, star, tilde". So, henceforth, I will be using the line break to show a scene break.

Chapter Seventeen: Frustrated

Every week, under the guise of shopping, Deirdre walked through the town, checking to be sure everyone was doing well. Winter could be hard on the rich, let alone the poor; she would not let one child starve, one old person die from being cold, if she could help it.

Her giving nature had at first annoyed her father, especially the winter she had given away all of their blankets and he had had to send men to London to buy more yarn for the weavers; he would not take the blankets back as it would have made him look heartless, so he had made his headstrong daughter help with the weaving and sleep on the floor before the fire until all the new blankets for the household were made. He always acted angry with her for her charity, but in truth, he was as proud as a father could be—she was quick to anger and stubborn, just like he was, but tempered by her mother's gentle nature in many ways.

As she stopped to chat with a young mother and hand her a small bag of coins and dried meat, Deirdre glanced sideways to see Allan in her peripheral vision. She thought of their kiss in the courtyard and of their time in the cave, remembering his strong arms around her, the feel of his lips as he kissed her, and smiled as she bent to speak to the woman's toddler. This week Allan was not just escorting her—he was going with her as more than an acquaintance, more than a friend—and while she knew they couldn't show their feelings in public still, she was determined they would soon find a private spot long enough for at least  _one_  more kiss.

* * *

Every week, Allan accompanied Deirdre as she walked through the town, doing her shopping and handing out money or supplies to the poor. Winter could be hard, and Allan couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he thought of the gang in Sherwood trying to avoid the cold by staying in a cave, while he woke up every morning in a nice warm bed.

Allan watched Deirdre stop to chat with a young mother and surreptitiously hand her a small package at the same time. Deirdre had done more good, saved more lives, than he could count since she had arrived. She was always gracious, except when she was angry; the couple of times he had inadvertently angered her in their sword practice, she had nearly taken his head off—literally. She thought nothing of giving, yet always seemed to have more; she never seemed to suffer in her efforts to improve others' lives. _How much money could she ‘ave possibly brought with ‘er?_

It was funny how she was able to help people, as Robin did, but lived very much differently. Deirdre's lips curved into a smile as she leaned down to touch the cheek of the woman's toddler and Allan couldn't help but remember how those lips had felt under his. This week as he escorted her through Nottingham, he would not have to imagine what Deirdre's lips would taste like or how she would feel in his arms. This week, he  _knew_ , and even though he couldn't express himself to her in public, he was determined to find a spot of privacy, if only long enough for  _one_  kiss.

She had moved on from the woman and child and now stood before a message posted by the town crier earlier that day. Allan stepped closer, and as he watched her read, a small smile formed on his lips. _That_ was how he would get some privacy with her.

* * *

Martin leaned in toward Deirdre, keeping his voice pitched low. “You know that boy is watching you again.”

“What boy?” Deirdre glanced around, reddening as her gaze fell on Allan.

“That one. I don’t know what happened when you two escaped your escort, and I don’t want to know, but it ends now.” Martin stepped away before Deirdre could reply, ending the conversation.

Deirdre glared at him over her shoulder. He could end the conversation for now if he chose to. She wouldn’t make a scene in public. But there would be Hell to pay later.

* * *

After supper that evening, Allan strolled over to Deirdre, who was having a conversation with Guy by the fire. "Sorry to interrupt. Lady Deirdre, can I ask you somethin'?"

Guy glared at Allan, and his already grim look turned murderous as Deirdre responded, "Of course, Allan. Guy, would you excuse us?" She rose from the chair and walked around the hall with Allan.

"Deirdre, look I…" he stopped, embarrassed still to declare his feelings, certainly to talk about the fact that he had wanted to kiss her so much today that he had felt like he was dying inside.

She smiled at him ruefully, reaching a hand out toward his arm before catching herself and lowering it to her side again. "I know. We’ll figure something out.”

He nodded. "Well, actually, I was thinkin'…" he stopped again, flushed, then forged on, "I was thinkin' that…you know 'ow to read, right?" His accent had thickened considerably, a testament to his nervousness.

His sudden change of topic had Deirdre raising her eyebrow at him quizzically before she responded, "Yes."

"I don't."

He seemed to spit the information quickly out of his mouth, as though he didn't want to linger on the fact. He had never been embarrassed by his illiteracy before—after all, who but the nobles and maybe a few merchants knew how to read? He could make his mark and that was all he had needed in life. Until now. He was trying to better himself. He wanted more in life. He didn't want to sleep on the ground anymore or in some hovel of a home. If he learned to read, he could really make something of himself. The fact that it might not make him look so bad in Fàelàn O'Niall's eyes didn't hurt either. And if he could get Deirdre to be his teacher, perhaps they could get some time alone, in actual privacy, as well.

"I'd be happy to teach you, Allan. I'll make  _all_  the arrangements." Deirdre smiled and winked at him; what a great opportunity for them to be alone. She was more amazed every day by how his mind worked—he was ignorant of many things, yes, but quite resourceful when he wanted to be.

Allan smiled back at her, fascinated by how quickly she seemed to latch onto devious ideas. He looked on in admiration as she returned to sit with Guy.

* * *

Sheriff Vasey had paused at the landing above the Great Hall to look back. His instincts had told him he might spot something interesting if no one knew he was about. As he looked down at Lady Deirdre walking with Allan A-Dale, he knew he had been correct. The two were walking close together and as they stopped nearly below the landing, Vasey strained to catch their conversation. He couldn't hear anything, but as he watched, each of them reddened in turn, and he smiled evilly to himself before turning to continue on to his bedroom.

* * *

It was after dark and Martin was walking back to his quarters. From out of nowhere, he found himself pinned to the wall of the smithy he was passing. In the shadows, he couldn't make out the face of his attacker, but he relaxed as he heard Deirdre's angry voice. "Love of God, Martin, do you want me to stay a maid forever?"

He chuckled, then sobered as he felt her knife at his throat. He had known her too long to think she would have let his earlier advice go unpunished. "Your da would skin me alive if I didn't look out for your reputation."

"It's  _my_  reputation!"

" _And_  your da's. How's he supposed to marry you off if you're catting around with some boy?"

"And what if that _boy_ was the man I wanted to marry?"

Martin stood aghast. "What?"

Deirdre softened and lowered the knife as she realized the truth of what she had just said. "What if he was the man I wanted to marry?"

Marting turned to face her, barely making out her face in the limited moonlight. She wore a hooded cloak, but the hood was slipping, revealing the face of a shaken young woman. "Deirdre, your da will…will…Dear God!" He crossed himself against his blasphemy, staring at her in horror.

Her mouth hardened in resolve. "Martin, my da married for love. He hasn't forced me into marriage. If it's Allan I love, he'll understand. I'm sure of it."

He tipped his head in closer to hers, keeping his voice down. "And what of Sir Guy?"

"What of him?" Martin raised his eyebrow at her, giving her a no-nonsense look, and she sighed. "I've already told Sir Guy that I'm not interested in him in that way, that I like Allan."

Martin rocked back in shock. "Holy Mother of God!” He crossed himself again. There would be dozens of rosaries, as there usually were after a conversation with Fàelàn’s daughter. “Then if you truly love Allan, you'd better watch his back."

"What do you mean?"

"Sir Guy doesn't strike me as the kind who takes rejection well. If he thinks there's something going on between you and Allan, he may try to kill him."

Martin watched as the hood slipped back further, exposing Deirdre's face. There was no mistaking the fear he saw there—something he had seen only rarely since the child had come to live in her father's house. He reached out a hand to her cheek and spoke soothingly.

"From now on, the escort will be there to see to Allan's safety as well as yours. But I will not leave you unescorted, Deirdre. This place is dark and dangerous. In fact, I want you to forget the original plan. When spring comes, we leave this place, and if you want him, Allan will leave with us." Martin's voice hardened as he added, "But if he hurts you, Sir Guy won't have a chance to kill him."

Deirdre smiled and punched him lightly in the stomach. "You're right. If he hurts me, he's all mine."

 


	19. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allan and Deirdre are both learning things.

Chapter Nineteen: Lessons

Allan's reading lessons began the next evening after supper. He and Deirdre had eaten both breakfast and supper together and had their sword-fighting practice together, but this was the first time they had been alone all day. Allan was full of anticipation as he knocked on her door. One of her maids answered it and led him to a small room off the main chamber, where the other maids were sewing and Deirdre was looking out the window, daydreaming.

The maid spoke up, "Milady?"

Deirdre responded without looking away from the window, "Hmm?"

"Milady, Allan A' Dale is here to see you."

Deirdre sighed in aggravation, then turned an annoyed face to Allan before dismissing her maids. As the door closed behind the last maid, Allan asked in confusion, "I'm not bein' funny, but what's your problem?"

Deirdre got up and walked over to stand in front of him. Putting her arms around his neck, she declared, "Too many people around," then kissed him so passionately he thought his legs would buckle. They stood that way for long moments, and when they broke apart, it was only at the lips. Deirdre rested her head against Allan's lips as they stood with their eyes closed, each enjoying the closeness of the other. Deirdre pulled away and led him to the small table she had been sitting at before; the temperature was dropping rapidly as the sun began to set, but they still had plenty of light and heat from the small fireplace behind them. It was after dark when Allan stepped out of the chamber.

"Evenin' ladies." He grinned at the maids, most of whom giggled at him as he made for the door. The older women frowned at him, worried for their mistress' reputation. The scoundrel's lips had been swollen and they were relatively sure their mistress hadn't punched him. Betsy, the oldest, knocked on the chamber door before entering to see if Lady Deirdre needed anything more or if she should send the others to their beds.

Deirdre looked up at the knock on the door. Betsy entered, noticing her mistress' lips were also swollen and her hair mussed. "Should I send the girls to bed, milady?"

"Yes, please Betsy." Deirdre had a far-away look in her eyes.

Betsy poked her head out and sent the other girls away, then came back into the room. She was silent for a moment, banking the fire and cleaning up. "Milady?"

"Yes Betsy?"

"I'm sorry Milady. I know it's not my business, but you should be careful."

"Careful? How do you mean, Betsy?"

Betsy turned and wiped her hands on her apron, looking her mistress in the eye. "Milady, you were in here alone with Allan for quite some time."

Deirdre smiled, "Yes. Well. Allan is embarrassed—he doesn't want anyone to hear him learning to read."

"Milady, your reputation…"

"But nothing happened Betsy, other than reading lessons."

Betsy looked at her mistress askance; Deirdre blushed. "All right, all right. But we only kissed, that's all."

"Milady, Allan is not of your station. People will talk."

"But you won't, will you Betsy?" Deirdre looked to her maid beseechingly.

"Of course not, Milady." Betsy didn't approve of her mistress' choice, but she would never tell anyone of her indiscretions. Since Deirdre had hired her, Betsy's family ate more regularly and slept more soundly by a warm fire. Betsy would remain silent to save her lady any trouble.

* * *

Deirdre was restless. Her lessons with Allan had gone quite well that night. She had decided it would be best to teach him both reading and writing at the same time; Allan had proved a quick study and they had spent half the time studying and the other half kissing. When he had reluctantly gotten up to leave, Deirdre had sighed in frustration, wanting him to stay.

She got herself ready for bed; she had never been comfortable having others dress her and in fact only kept her retinue for appearance's sake and to put money into the households of the girls. She lay in bed, tossing and turning as the moon rose, until she could take it no longer. Betsy's words and her chiding tone had set Deirdre's teeth on edge. She was so tired of everyone judging everyone else based on where or to whom they had been born-first Marian, then Guy, now Betsy. The fact that she had to keep her own origins a secret for her father's sake grated on her nerves. She had to blow off steam and there was only one thing that she could do to calm herself without waking the entire castle. The possibility of seeing Allan was a bonus. She got up to get dressed, choosing a dark cloak and her riding pants rather than a skirt, then slipped quietly out of the room.

Silently, she stole along the halls in the castle, automatically checking the number and position of the guards, where the loose stones were, where there were hiding places. She came upon the room where the sheriff kept his money, whatever did not fit in the "birdcage." In truth, the sheriff had become uneasy with keeping all that money out in the open, and only kept a token amount there so no one would think there was more under lock and key. Unfortunately for the sheriff, Deirdre had beguiled his two most trusted men, picking their brains little by little as opportunities arose, slowly gaining the information she needed.

Deirdre leaned against the door, running her hands along the edges very slowly, searching. She found what she was looking for and as she pushed the stone in, the door swung silently open. She peeked cautiously inside at a room that looked to be used for storage only; crates lay on the floor, some half open with dresses or other fabric spilling over the top. This room, like the birdcage, had been Allan's idea; everything was hidden in plain sight, the money lay in false bottoms in the crates or in the cushions of the furniture. The fact that the door only opened on either side if one knew where the secret catch was, was also his idea. Even if a thief made it through the door, they would be stuck until they could find the catch on the other side and the inside catch was  _not_  in a mirrored location to the outside catch. It was good, and Deirdre smiled in admiration before re-closing the door and re-setting the latch.

The sound of footsteps and quiet voices warned her moments before Allan and a guard came around the corner, and she melted quickly into the shadows. The guard was speaking quietly to Allan, apologizing for waking him up. Guy was the top man, but Allan was the man all the guards went to when there was a problem. Allan was one of them and would not punish them for making mistakes. If there really was a problem, Allan would send the man to wake up Guy, but for now, it was Allan who would check things out.

Allan had had an alarm set up on the door as well as using the catches; if the door opened even the slightest bit, wires were rigged to release a club so that it would swing and hit a large shield in one of the small rooms off the great hall two floors below. Deirdre had seen the shield and club contraption and asked what it was, but hadn't known how far she could open the door, how fast anyone would arrive, or even if anyone would arrive in the middle of the night. The club was muffled so that it wouldn't wake the whole castle, but a guard slept in that room every night. Deirdre held her breath as Allan opened the door, peering inside first to be sure no one was there, then closed the door and re-set the alarm. She watched his every move carefully, so close she could almost reach out to touch him, finding it desperately hard to not do so.

The guard left, but Allan stood for a moment, hands on hips, frowning at the door. He could've sworn he smelled roses, the dried kind that Deirdre used to wash with every day after their sword fighting lessons. He shook his head and smiled ruefully, "You're thinkin' about that woman too much, Allan," he said to himself. "You're even startin' to smell 'er everywhere you go." He turned and walked away, back to his bed and dreams of Deirdre.

Deirdre glided out of the shadows long minutes later, once she was sure he was gone, releasing a breath in relief. Now she knew how much time she would have, and it wasn't much. She would have to find another way into the room.

 


	20. Illicit Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre's maid discovers a secret.

Chapter Twenty: Illicit Courtship

Allan and Deirdre spent long hours together as winter slowly gave way to spring. Every day saw them at sword practice and reading practice; both for as many hours as they could get away with. As the days warmed, Deirdre insisted on going riding together as well; at first, she had hoped for more time alone with Allan, but Guy's murderous glances, coupled with Martin's warning and Allan's words of his torture at Gisbourne's hands kept her well-behaved.

For his part, Allan was frustrated at her sudden lack of adventurousness and the fact that she seemed to want to stay with the escort rather than lose them; he wanted to be alone with her in that cave again. Deirdre would have none of it though, and so their "alone time" was relegated to stolen moments in the hallways of the castle or during his reading lessons, and once when they found themselves completely alone in the stable for a few desperate minutes.

One rainy evening, they were secreted away in an alcove; in fact, the very one where Allan had come across Deirdre with Guy. This time, it was Allan who had her backed against the wall, and this time, she wasn't trying to get away. Allan wanted to wipe away her memories of Guy's kisses in this spot and replace them with thoughts of his instead.

He had never felt like this about any woman; every moment away from her was torture and he knew that if she would have him—and assuming her father didn't kill him for even thinking it—he wanted to marry her. The problem was knowing how she felt—one minute she was all passion and seriousness, the next laughter and teasing. As they broke apart from their kiss, he breathed the words practically into her mouth, not realizing he had spoken aloud until she inhaled sharply. "Marry me, Deirdre."

He looked up fearfully at her. Her eyes were wide in shock and she seemed to be at a loss for words. He frowned at her look, then said, "I know, I know. Stupid of me to think you'd want to marry the likes o' me." He turned to leave, the pain in his chest crushing him, making breathing difficult; he wanted to escape before it drove him to his knees.

"Yes."

He heard the word spoken behind him in almost a whisper. He turned back, unable to believe his own ears until he saw the look on her face. Fear—to match his own—but joy as well. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"But what about…I mean, your father. Are you sure 'e doesn't 'ave some rich baron or prince picked out for you?" The mere idea had a lump forming in his throat.

"I'm sure. Besides, he would never force me to marry."

"And what about Guy?"

She cocked her head, frowning. "What about him?"

"I mean he's rich and powerful and…"

"Not the one I want. So there's an end to it. Unless of course, you regret asking me?" Deirdre looked at him mischievously as he flustered.

"No, o' course not. It's just that Gisbourne's rich and he's a lord and I'm...not." Allan reddened even more.

"And I've already told you, none of that matters. That being said, we probably shouldn't announce it here. I don't think Guy would take the news well. You'll come back to Dun Aisling with me when I leave in a few weeks and we'll announce it there."

"Are you sure your da…?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now shut up and kiss me." They grinned and melted back into the alcove.

* * *

As the days passed to a week, Deirdre grew restless. She had yet to find an alternate route into the treasure room, and was beginning to think this job would require her sneaking into the alarm room first to disable the alarm, then resetting it when she was done. She was also restless for more with Allan; although she was still a maid, she knew there was more that went on between a man and a woman than she was having with Allan. She wanted to be married to him, and she wanted it now. Always headstrong, she was used to getting her way, even if it meant exercising patience and caution  _sometimes_.

They were in one of the store rooms late one night, locked together in an embrace. Deirdre started unlacing his shirt-it took Allan a full minute or two, as he felt his shirt being tugged from his pants, before he jumped back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What're you doin'?!" She had surprised him with her boldness. Not that he didn't want to go further, but her father would  _definitely_  skin him alive, no matter how understanding he was, if he slept with the man's daughter, and so he reluctantly took Deirdre's wrists in his hands as she reached for him again.

Deirdre was breathless and more than a little embarrassed, but she refused to be swayed from her objective. "Allan, I want us to have more. I want to be with you like a woman is with her husband. We  _are_  engaged, after all."

"Yeah, but we ain't  _married_  yet!"

"But we're engaged." Even to her own ears, Deirdre's voice sounded plaintive. She hated herself for it, but she would get what she wanted, no matter the cost.

Allan blushed, still overwhelmed by this woman and her obvious, if misplaced, attraction for him. "I'm not bein' funny Deirdre, but your father'll kill me!"

Deirdre looked at him sulkily from under her long lashes. "Not if we're married."

"What?" As devious as Allan was, even he had trouble following the twists and turns of her mind sometimes; he looked at her with his lip curled, eyebrows raised in confusion.

"I said, not if we're married."

"Which we're  _not_!" Allan's eyes were huge in his face as he looked at Deirdre as though she'd lost her senses.

"But we will be." Deirdre would not be swayed.

"Yeah, but we're not. I'm not bein' funny, but I like all my parts where they are  _and_  in one piece." Allan didn't like the look in her eyes—it was the same look she gave just before she would go on the attack in swordplay and he would be lucky to escape intact; the look spoke of sheer determination and a will that would brook no refusal, regardless of the odds. He asked warily, "What are on about?"

"We could go to the chapel, right now, and speak our vows to each other."

"But it's not like there's a priest or anything." His reasonable side asked,  _Are you out of your mind?! Why are you even considering this?_ His troublesome side said,  _She sure looks pretty and once you're married you can...._

Allan swallowed convulsively as she pushed on. "We don't need a priest. When I was a kid, people just spoke vows to each other all the time—it's not like there was a priest around every day. Wasn't it the same in your village?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. It's just that that was between peasants, not nobility, and I know you're only 'alf, but still you're nobility, and I'm not and your da'll…"

Allan had released her hands and Deirdre grabbed his face and kissed him hard, effectively stopping his raving. She softened the kiss before pulling away from him, just a bit. "Allan, please. I just…I want to marry you. Now."

"Now," he repeated disbelievingly.

"Now." Her voice was firm, with no hesitation.

A huge grin suddenly danced over his face. This woman wanted him.  _Him!_  The cautious side of him said,  _Her da's gonna kill you_ , but the mischievous side won out with,  _Yeah, but it'll be fun in the meantime and won't it be nice to get the girl._  "All right then, let's go to the chapel."

A short while later, they were sneaking back to the store room, after having promised themselves to each other before the altar in the little chapel. Just before dawn, they snuck back to their rooms.

* * *

Deirdre tiptoed into her room and washed quickly before settling into her bed, a soft smile on her face. She fell asleep instantly and didn't wake up until late the next morning.

* * *

Allan snuck into his room and collapsed before falling asleep with a huge grin on his face. It didn’t bother him in the least when one of the servants had to shake him awake at dawn.

* * *

The bustling and whispered words of the maids awoke Deirdre from a dead sleep. She lay in bed a few moments more, smiling softly to herself. Her body felt deliciously sore, the only proof that last night hadn't been a dream. She moaned and rolled over; Betsy came over to see if her mistress was finally awake. As Deirdre opened her eyes and Betsy looked into them, the older woman's eyes went wide in horror and she quickly found something for the other girls to do elsewhere in the castle. Deirdre sat up in confusion as the last of her maids left the room and the door closed behind her. Betsy turned, hands on hips, to glare at her mistress.

"Well, now you've done it." Betsy was so angry and worried for her mistress, she forgot to address her properly; luckily Deirdre never stood on formality so she didn't notice.

"What are you talking about?" Deidre hadn't noticed the lack of her title, but she  _did_  notice the anger in Betsy's voice.

"What am I talkin' about? I'm talkin' about the fact that... _you're no longer a maid_." Betsy's voice had begun to rise, but she moved in close and practically whispered the last part in her mistress' face.

"What?!" Deirdre was shocked. She never talked in her sleep, but had she this time? "How do you…I mean, what makes you say such a thing?" Deirdre did her best to sound offended, but instead she wound up sounding like a child who's been caught doing something naughty.

"It's in your eyes. Who?! Was it…? Allan." Betsy spoke Allan's name in a whisper, grimly, and with certainty. "Your father is goin' to kill you, you know. Right after 'e skins that man's worthless hide! That is, unless of course, Sir Guy gets 'is hands on 'im first. How could you, mistress?"

Betsy's obvious distress softened the anger that had begun to build up in Deirdre's heart. She whispered softly, plaintively, "We're married."

Betsy's eyes went wide in shock again. "You're  _what_?"

"We're married. We took vows in the chapel last night."

"But why, mistress? You have a bit of a lark with a man like Allan, you don't marry 'im!"

"Because I love him and he loves me."

Deirdre sounded so lost, like a child, and Betsy softened immediately. "All right then. What’s done is done, I suppose. So when will you tell everyone?"

Deirdre smiled at the older woman. "We need to keep it a secret for now, Betsy. Just until we're back at Dun Aisling."

"That's the first intelligent thing you've said this morning. Now out of bed, we'll get you cleaned up. Lucky for you, men only see what they want to see; unless he catches you in the act, Sir Guy probably won't notice the difference. You watch though, for the married women—they'll know right away. How soon do you leave?"

"Two weeks. The roads should be clear."

"All right, so for the next two weeks, you control yourself, do you hear?"

Deirdre blinked back tears, but agreed.

 


	21. Honeymoon from Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does a young married couple properly enjoy their new marital status when they shouldn't even be courting?

Chapter Twenty-one: Honeymoon from Hell

"So Gisbourne, how goes the wooing of the fair Lady Deirdre, eh?" The sheriff and Guy were alone in the sheriff's office. Vasey was sitting in his chair, picking lint from between his toes and examining it before flicking it away.

Guy wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It'll be fine."

"Will? So currently, it's not?"

Leave it to the sheriff to pick up on a nuance like that. Guy ground his teeth before answering. "She keeps herself busy. She spends her mornings training with a sword and her evenings teaching reading."

"Hmmm, yes. Both of those things are with your man Allan, are they not?" The sheriff looked up from his toes to gauge Guy's reaction.  _Gotcha._

Guy did his best to appear casual, but failed miserably; the fact that Deirdre spent most of her time with Allan—a man she professed to have feelings for—had not escaped his notice. "What is your point, My Lord?"

"My _point_ , Gisbourne—" The sheriff paused and lowered his foot to stand and come around the desk, hands clasped behind his back. He got right up in Guy's face, neck stretched like an adder, before he continued, "My _point_ is that  _you_  are an idiot."

Guy's nostrils flared as he attempted to control his temper. "My Lord…"

Vasey continued, thoroughly unfazed by Guy's rising anger. "My _point_ , Gisbourne, is that you were patient and chivalrous with Marian and what did it get you, hmm? I'll tell you what it got you. Because it didn't get you the girl, that's for certain. You got left at the altar, humiliated in front of every peasant on your lands. Face it, Marian played you for a fool and now you're letting Deirdre do the same thing! The _Lady_ Deirdre and her father and all his power are a much richer prize than Marian could ever  _hope_  to be." The sheriff turned and walked a few paces away before whirling back to face Guy. "And you're letting that slip away! You're pathetic Gisbourne," he added with a sneer.

Guy did his best to control his temper. He had a plan in place already. He knew what he was doing. He kept his head down, looking at the floor so the sheriff wouldn't see the anger in his eyes. "My Lord, the Lady Deirdre will not slip away, I can assure you of that."

The sheriff stood by the window, gazing down at the courtyard. "Really Gisbourne? Because it appears she already has."

Guy frowned in consternation and strode over to the sheriff’s side. He looked down at the plaza below. There was Deirdre in her riding pants—with Allan. They were laughing like the best of friends and Deirdre's face was flushed—from the cold or the company, he didn't know. Gisbourne growled low in his throat, like a dog warning someone away from his bone. "She will  _not_  slip away." He stormed out of the room, intent on breaking in on Deirdre and Allan.

The sheriff smiled in satisfaction—Guy was extremely easy to manipulate. Once Gisbourne was married to the little Irish wench, he would be that much closer to _real_  power-not just here in England, but in Ireland, Europe, the Holy Lands, and beyond. _And naturally, he’ll bring me along with him. He owes me. All he has to do is remove one small obstacle._

* * *

 

Deirdre had found Allan at their usual meeting place for the morning's sword practice. She desperately wanted to see him, but she didn't want to tell him of Betsy's advice, any more than she wanted to follow it. It didn't help when he turned at the sound of her footsteps and flashed her a dazzling grin of pure happiness. He was so beautiful—if a masculine man could be called beautiful—with his blue eyes sparkling, framed by those long lashes. She remembered how his eyes had looked last night, dark with passion, and shuddered slightly. She watched as those eyes darkened again and blushed, realizing he was remembering as well.

"Mornin', Deirdre."

"Good morning, Allan." She flushed and looked down as his eyes seemed to bore into her soul. He moved closer; no one was around and he put his hands on her waist. He felt her tremble at his touch, much as she had last night and he moved closer to kiss her. He was surprised when she stiffened and pushed him away.

"Allan, stop. Someone will see."

"No one's about. Just us." He dipped his head to capture her lips again and after a too-brief moment, just as she began melting into him, he pushed her away. "Now, now, now, luv. Go easy. Someone'll see." He grinned at her as she slapped him in the chest, laughing in his face; then she blushed as he brushed his lips against her ear and whispered something.

"Allan A' Dale, I could just kill you."

"That's true, but then you'd be a widow and you're too beautiful by far to be a widow. Meet me tonight again. Same place?"

Deirdre sobered at his soft-spoken, heart-felt words and pulled out of his arms. "I can't Allan."

He lowered his eyebrows at her in consternation. "Why not? I need to see you again. Please, Deirdre." He tried to move closer again and she avoided his grasp.

"I know Allan, but I just can't." At his continued look of confusion, she explained, "Look Allan, I don't know how she knew, but my maid, Betsy, knew I had…you know. So I admitted to her that we were married."

"You  _what_?" Allan whispered in shock.

"Look she guessed what had happened, except the married part and I couldn't let her think I was wanton. This way, she'll protect our secret."

Allan sighed in aggravation. "Well, it's done now. But what's that got to do with us meetin' up?" He sounded almost plaintive now and she couldn't help but smile.

"Betsy says we should be careful. We  _are_  leaving in two weeks, after all. There's no sense in getting caught by Guy. He would not be amused."

Allan snorted. "That's an understatement!" His grin of good humor had her laughing in relief. Neither of them saw the sheriff who was now looking down on them from his office window.

* * *

 

Gisbourne barged down the hall, his temper evident in his every stride. Guards jumped quickly out of his way as he glared at them. He stopped for a moment outside the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light, before striding purposefully toward the courtyard where he had seen Deirdre and Allan. He tried desperately to collect himself so Deirdre wouldn't be put off by his ire; by the time he rounded the corner, he had a fake smile in place.

Deirdre turned at the sound of her name to see Guy standing not twenty feet away. She flushed, embarrassed and a little frightened that he might have heard her conversation with Allan. "Guy, we were just talking about you."

"You were?" Guy sounded confused by her admission.

Allan jumped in. "Yeah, we were just saying as how the sheriff must be keeping you awfully busy lately. We've 'ardly seen you. You should take a bit o' time off. Spring's comin'. 'ave some fun."

Guy raised an eyebrow at Allan. "I think you're right. Deirdre, would you accompany me on a ride?"

"I, um, that is, I…" Deirdre stuttered, trying to find a graceful way out of the invitation Allan had left wide open for Guy.

Allan grinned. "That’s a fine idea, Giz, but we was just about to start our sword-fighting lessons."

Guy smiled, but his eyes remained cold. "The Lady Deirdre seems to excel with a sword, from what I've seen. I think she can skip a lesson or two." Guy held out his hand in expectation. Deirdre looked helplessly at Allan before accepting the proffered hand. Allan swallowed and looked on miserably as Guy led his new wife away. 


	22. Riding to Locksley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre usually enjoys a nice ride in the country. But this one is more like a sparring match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was no posting last week. I wound up going to visit my lovely daughter in law and granddaughter, and wound up with a baby in my arms for most of the weekend. It. Was. Awesome. But also very tiring, lol.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Riding to Locksley

Guy had noticed Deirdre's discomfiture, but ignored it and chattered amiably with her, a one-sided conversation, as they walked to the stables flanked by her men. As they waited for their horses to be saddled, some of her men went to saddle their own mounts. Guy turned to Martin, who had walked up beside his mistress. "You and your men need not accompany us."

Martin raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, My Lord, but we must accompany the Lady Deirdre everywhere."

Guy looked impatiently back over his shoulder at his own men. "She will be perfectly safe with us."

"I do not doubt that, My Lord. However, orders are orders, and our orders are to accompany her wherever she goes. I must answer to my master and he is not a man I would care to anger."

Martin stood casually in the warmth of the late March sun, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The threat was carefully veiled, but there nonetheless; if Sir Guy laid a finger on Lady Deirdre against her will, he would pay dearly.

D'Jinn and Alemah had been brought out. Both men moved to help Deirdre mount; she looked at them archly before mounting on her own. Guy frowned and sighed in aggravation; between the woman's willfulness and her man's loyalty, this was not going as he had planned. He mounted D'Jinn and looked to Martin, who had mounted his own chestnut stallion. "Fine, but you ride with your men. Your mistress and I would like to have a private conversation."

Deirdre had felt like wheat under a mill wheel as the two men had argued back and forth. She looked to Martin and nodded; he glowered at her before turning his horse to go back with the men.

They had passed through the gates of Nottingham and were making their way up the hill toward the road that would lead them to Locksley before Guy spoke again. "Your men are very protective of you." Guy made it sound like an accusation.

Deirdre kept facing straight ahead as she replied, "Yes, well, my father is a very temperamental man. He would kill the man who harmed me—or the one who let me come to harm." Deirdre spoke matter-of-factly, but her warning, just as Martin's had been, was clear.

"I apologize. I just wanted some time alone with you. It has been weeks since we've spent any time alone outside the castle and I've…" he paused and looked uncomfortably down at the pommel of his saddle, rubbing at a scratch there absently. D'Jinn's black withers shivered as his master's hand inadvertently tickled him. "I've missed you," he finished so quietly that Deirdre almost didn't hear him.

Deirdre sighed and relaxed in her saddle. When Guy was behaving so vulnerably with her, it was hard to remember that this was the man who Allan said had had him tortured. She decided to change the subject though, as Guy seemed to be headed down a familiar path.

"Where are we going anyway, Sir Guy?" She had already figured out their destination, but it was a safer topic than Guy speaking of missing her.

"Locksley. I need to check in on the manor, see how things are there. I've been back once a week or so this winter."

His tone was reproachful, reminding her that every time he had asked her to come with him, she had been busy or ill or impossible to find.

"How are your serfs?"

Again, Deirdre tried to steer their conversation to safer ground. She had not wanted to go to Locksley with Guy since he had declared his feelings for her, and so she had instructed her maids every time he had come by to say she was abed or that they did not know where their mistress was.

"Fine, they're fine."

The question caught him off guard. He had checked on the welfare of the town itself, not its people, and had no idea if any had sickened or died this past winter. In all honesty, he did not really care, so long as there were enough of them to run the estate. The fact that the first thing she had thought of was his people showed just how different they were—and how well they would complement each other in a marriage.

Deirdre noted the carelessness of his response and added it to the list of Guy's bad points—right below torturing Allan. His cavalier answer showed that he had no real interest in his people; having been a "lowly" serf herself, his response irritated her. She wanted to be with Allan, to spend time getting to know her new husband even better. She did not want to be riding off with Sir Guy, who could not seem to understand that she was just not interested in him that way. She sighed irritably.

"Sir Guy, your serfs are people, just like you and I. If you treated them that way, you'd get more out of them."

Guy snorted. "Those people are  _not_  just like you and I. All they have to worry about is their day to day living; we have bigger issues, more important things.  _We_  are the reason that they have a life and so  _they owe us_. While their  _king_ ," he sneered, "is away in the Holy Land, Prince John and a few of his loyal nobles remain here, looking after the welfare of the people. These people are lucky that we are here."

His haughtiness angered her, but Deirdre bit her tongue, remembering how many of these "lucky" people she had met this past winter and how many of them would have "luckily" starved or frozen to death without her intervention. She remembered Allan's words of how Guy had tortured him, then offered him the option to turn traitor to his friends or die a slow, painful death.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne was a dangerous man and she realized that it was best she keep that in mind. Her father had brought home a pair of lions from the wilds of Africa one time; a few weeks after their arrival, one of the animals had become wounded in a scuffle with the other one. The keeper had tried to help the wounded animal and at first it had been docile, even licking the keeper's face in seeming gratitude; without warning, the animal had turned on the keeper and the man had bled to death before her father's men could kill the beast. Sir Guy reminded her of that lion, purring one minute, murderous the next. She sat straighter in her saddle and Alemah snorted and danced under her, sensing her mistress' sudden anxiety.

 


	23. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy has Deirdre where he wants her, but will he have his way with her?

Chapter Twenty-Three: Fear

The day was sunny and warm, but as Deirdre walked among the people of Locksley, she felt chilled to the bone. To a man, the people of the village agreed on three things: Sir Guy was a cruel master, Robin Hood was a hero, and Allan A' Dale was a traitor. They didn't say the exact words—it was in their tone of voice, except for the last; the people of Locksley spat on the ground when they said Allan's name and would hang her new husband from a rope if they could lay hands on him without his boss around. She had tried to tell them Allan's side of the story, of his torture, but in trying to prove himself to Guy and the sheriff, Allan had ostracized the villagers. Deirdre became even more frightened for Allan's life, and knew she had to get him to Dun Aisling where he would be safe. What was worse, every so often, as she looked up, she would spy Sir Guy throwing heated looks her way; she felt like a deer being stalked by a hungry wolf. She began to regret sending Martin and his men to hunt for food for the obviously hungry villagers.

* * *

Guy watched Deirdre as she roamed around  _his_  village, talking to  _his_  people. He noted that his peasants seemed to like her and smiled in satisfaction—she would make a good Lady of Locksley. Once he had wanted Marian, but she had proved fickle, and since Deirdre's father had much better connections and much more wealth, she seemed the obvious choice to replace Marian. It didn't hurt that the lady was as beautiful in her way as Marian; although her affection for Allan irked Guy to no end. No matter, soon she would be his, and once she was, Allan would have to…vanish.

* * *

As the afternoon wore on and there was no sign of Deirdre returning, Allan began to panic.  _Some 'usband you are—not even married a full day yet and already you let 'er ride off with some other man, and a dangerous one to boot_. He tried to focus on his sword practice, driving himself and his sparring partner to exhaustion. He was angry that it was not Deirdre sparring with him, angry with himself for not insisting that she needed more practice even though that was obviously not true.

After practice, Allan took Samar out for a long ride and came back—still no Deirdre. As he arrived back at the castle, he spotted Deirdre's maid Betsy walking by on her way home for the evening. Allan rode up and asked after Lady Deirdre, unaware that the sheriff was lurking nearby.

Vasey couldn't resist jabbing at Allan. "So, your little friend has run off, eh? Without you this time?" The sheriff turned away, then spun back, a twisted smirk on his face. "By the way, I don't suppose you've seen Gisbourne, have you? It  _is_  getting dark and I haven't seen him all day." He grinned and made kissing noises at Allan.

Allan looked down at the sheriff's sinister smile and knew something was wrong. He cursed and yanked viciously on Samar's reins, turning him to head back out the castle gates and toward Locksley, the sheriff's menacing laughter and the coming of night shadowing him like a demon. Somehow, he would get Deirdre away from Guy—he had to.

* * *

The sun was setting, and the western sky was a beautiful palette of pinks and oranges, blues and purples and yellows, weaving amongst deep gray clouds. A cool breeze began to blow and Deirdre pulled her cloak tighter about her body. She couldn't stop the breeze that blew in underneath the cloak though; luckily she still had on her pants from her earlier intention of sparring with Allan. Thinking of her new husband and the warmth they had shared under that cloak, she smiled dreamily. She came back from her reverie with a start as Guy touched her elbow.

"Milady, we should go inside. It's beginning to get cold out and a warm supper awaits us in the manor." His deep voice resonated far too close to her ear and she turned, taking a step back from his crowding presence at the same time.

"Shouldn't we be getting back to the castle?" Her stomach dropped, tightening. The darkness still came on quickly under winter's grasp and she did  _not_  want to be alone with Guy at his manor after dark.

As if he could read her mind, Guy smiled at her; the crooked grin that normally melted women's wills sent a shudder through Deirdre. She looked into his eyes and found them flat, without emotion, and her mouth went dry. He glanced skyward, then back at her, a look of victory on his face as the day began to wane "It's getting late. We'll stay here for the night and return to the castle in the morning."

"And my men?"

"Your men are to stay with mine in the barn—they'll be comfortable there."

"I see." Deirdre swallowed nervously, and smiled across the yard at the old woman she'd been talking to a few moments before. She let herself be led inside the manor; there was nothing else she could do for the moment without alienating Guy.

Allan rode like the hounds of Hell were chasing him. Something in the sheriff's voice, in his manner had said that he knew Gisbourne was up to something beyond a simple ride in the forest. Allan hoped desperately that he was wrong, that it was merely the sheriff being his usual cruel self, playing a vicious joke because he knew—as did most people with sight—that Allan fancied Deirdre. No one knew—no one could know yet—that they were actually married; even if he  _had_  known, Allan was certain the information would not have swayed Guy away from whatever he was up to.

Inside the manor, they had finished eating. Deirdre had sent Thornton to his bed earlier, insisting that she would take care of Guy. She didn't want to be alone with him, but she didn't want to expose innocents to his mercurial temper either. Besides, she already had a plan in place to keep her from Guy's grasp for the night, and she needed to be able to serve him herself. She filled their cups for the fourth time, and as she handed Guy his, he grabbed her wrist with his other hand, pulling her into his lap.

"That's a bit more friendly." He slurred, nuzzling her neck.

Deirdre pushed to no avail against the wall of his chest. His breath was hot on her neck and smelled sweet like the wine, but when she thought of his treatment of Allan, the bile rose in her throat. As his hand came to rest on her hip, she used all her willpower to keep from screaming; she loved Allan and didn't want any other man touching her that way, particularly not this one.

he could not just tell him to bugger off though; an unfriendly captain of the guard was a suspicious captain of the guard. She had half a mind to agree with Martin that they should call the whole thing off, but the Sheriff of Nottingham was known to have gotten rich off the backs of his people and Deirdre had every intention of curing him of that affliction. It took Deirdre a moment to notice that Guy was no longer murmuring and kissing on her neck, but rather snoring—and about time too. She sighed and gently began to disengage herself from his grasp as the door burst open.

Allan stood staring in horror at the sight of his wife in his tormentor's arms. As he took in the scene, Deirdre raised her finger to her lips to shush him. Pain and anger replaced the fear as he closed the door and stepped into the room.

"What's goin' on, Deirdre?" He barely opened his mouth, afraid that if the question escaped, he might not like the answer to it.

"Help me get him up to his bed. I'll tell you everything."

Allan swallowed, then moved to help her carry Guy up the stairs. When they were back downstairs, Deirdre moved to the table, grabbed Guy's cup of wine, and dumped it on the fire, along with a packet she took from inside her pants. The fire hissed and spat, flaming blue for a moment before returning to its normal cheery tones. She turned back and Allan was looking at her steadily, hurt in his beautiful blue eyes. She sighed in frustration for him—he was so used to being betrayed, he automatically thought the worst of her and of what he had seen.

"Allan…"

Allan broke in, nerves taught. "Deirdre, did 'e, I mean 'e didn't…?" He looked at her miserably unable to finish the thought.

"Allan, nothing happened."

"But 'e…'e had 'is hands…"

"Allan." She moved closer, took his face in her hands, and looked deep into his eyes. "Nothing happened. I made certain of that. He'll sleep until noon tomorrow and wake up with a head-ache; he'll probably think he's sick from too much drink."

“I don’t understand.”

Deirdre chuckled. “Of course not. You’re a man. You protect yourself directly. Women have to be a bit more subtle.” She shook her head as his brows drew further down. “I spiked his drink, Allan. Put an herb in there that made him sleepy.” A smile slowly creased her face as she saw the dawning realization in his eyes.

"So I rode all this way out 'ere to save you and worried all day for nothin'?" He grinned hugely in admiration of her ingenuity—he didn't know what herb she had used or where she had gotten it, but somehow she had and that was all that mattered.

Deirdre shrugged, "Yeah, pretty much. But I'm glad you did. Did I mention that he'll be in a  _deep_  sleep and that the guest room is right over there?" Deirdre looked up at him innocently and batted her eyelashes.

Allan's smile widened even more as he bent his head to capture her lips.


	24. Champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre's man at arms and Allan form an uneasy truce.

Chapter Twenty-four: Champions

The door burst open a second time, bringing more cold wind in with it. Martin stood in the doorway, sword drawn, breathing heavily.

"So, what have we here?" he asked, eyebrows raised inquiringly at the pair.

He and his men had been walking through the woods on their way back to Locksley with the rabbits and the wild pigs they had killed. As darkness approached, they had heard hooves drumming quickly over the ground on the nearby road. Martin had left his burden with the others, worried that something might be wrong, and had run as fast as he could to Locksley. Hunting was easier without the horses in a forest, but he had wished fervently for his mount as he ran with a sinking feeling in his gut. When he finally burst through the door, he was greeted by the sight of his best friend's daughter in the arms of a man, just not the one he had feared. He had thought to find her in Guy's clutches, fighting him off, instead he had found her snuggled up against Allan.

"Well?" he added, moving into the room and closing the door, not wanting to alert Guy's guards if they hadn't been already.

When the door had opened again, Allan had whirled, sword in hand, his body protecting hers. Deirdre was impressed at the speed with which he had turned from lover to fighter in her defense. He relaxed visibly, but didn't return the sword to its sheath, standing ready to defend them both. Deirdre sighed in aggravation at the two men and stepped out from behind Allan to stand between them.

"Allan was afraid I might be in danger, so he came to rescue me."

Martin knew immediately what danger Allan had been worried about, although the man had not looked worried when he had first opened the door.

"Where is Sir Guy?" he asked suspiciously. He hoped fervently that Deirdre had not done anything he would have to cover for—again. His life had been so peaceful before the child had come to live with her father. Political treachery he could deal with, but Deirdre sometimes made him…ah, who was he fooling, she made him smile with her antics, which were usually done out of the goodness of her heart.

Deirdre smiled as she looked at her surrogate uncle—the man was so protective sometimes it drove her mad. "Guy is upstairs in his bed."

Martin peered through the slats of the shutters at the moon that was just beginning to rise above the trees outside. "Really?" he asked suspiciously.

Allan jumped in, trying to come to Deirdre's rescue. "Yeah. Guy wasn't feelin' too good, so 'e went to bed."

Martin raised his eyebrow at the explanation, not buying it for a minute. "He wasn't feeling good? Deirdre, may I speak with you in private?"

"Martin, anything you have to say, you can say in front of Allan."

Martin smiled ruefully as he moved further into the room. "Really? So how exactly did Sir Guy come to be feeling poorly? He was fine this afternoon."

Allan moved over to peer out the window, checking to be sure no one else would be bursting into Locksley Manor this evening.

Deirdre shrugged nonchalantly, "He drank a bit too much wine."

"He drank…" Martin looked at her in shock. "Deirdre,  _what did you do_?" The last part came out strangled; Martin knew her too well to buy her innocent act. He was also certain that Guy had designs on Deirdre, designs that would keep him from drinking too much when he was alone with her.

She looked up at him, blinking her eyes ingenuously; luckily Allan's stance by the window put him to the side and slightly in back of Martin, so Martin couldn't see Allan's quiet laughter, but Deirdre was trying to hold in her own mirth.

"Whatever do you mean, Martin? The man had too much to drink. I don't know why you have to act like  _I_  did something."

Martin turned, his angry glance moving from Deirdre to Allan, whose grin disappeared immediately. He pointed to the younger man.

"You. Here. Now." Martin was pointing to a spot next to Deirdre. When Allan was standing there, Martin asked the question of both of them this time, "What did you do?"

"Nothin, honest," the two replied in unison and then broke out laughing.

Martin's grimace only held for a moment before he gave in—he never could stay angry at the little scamp. He sobered quickly however, as he remembered the scene that had greeted him on his entrance to the manor.

"Umm hmm. Well. Do you at least care to tell me what all that was about with you two when I walked in?"

"I already told you Martin, I have feelings for Allan and he has feelings for me."

Martin raised an eyebrow at the pair—he was sure they were hiding something. "And?"

"What do you mean?"

"Deirdre, I've know you since you were a child. You're hiding  _something_ , I can tell. Out with it. Now."

Deirdre frowned. Martin was always so much harder to fool than her father. She looked to Allan, silently asking his permission to tell. Allan's eyes widened as he guessed what she was getting at and he quickly shook his head back and forth. Deirdre frowned at him as Martin crossed his arms—the man would not budge until he got what he wanted, if they had to stay there like that all night. Deirdre pulled Allan closer to the guest room and whispered to him, looking back over her shoulder at the stoic warrior.

"Allan, we can trust him."

"Deirdre, you said yourself we have to keep this a secret."

"I know, but Betsy already figured it out. What's the harm in Martin knowing?"

"What's the harm? What's the harm?" Allan's voice was a horrified whisper as he looked at her incredulously.

"Who would you rather pass the night with? Martin? Or me?" she looked toward the bedroom door meaningfully.

Allan caught her meaning, but still was unconvinced. "I'd rather pass it alive," he grumbled.

"It'll be all right. I promise. We won't tell anyone else. Not until we get to Dun Aisling. I swear."

Allan frowned at her before giving in, nodding his head resignedly. He sighed and raised his eyes skyward, not sure if he was praying for the strength to deal with his new wife or if he was praying that she did not soon become a widow. Or both.

The couple turned back and walked toward Martin; he noticed that while Deirdre was beaming and had a bounce to her step, Allan looked pale and walked like a man being led to his death.

"Well?" he demanded sternly, getting some satisfaction in watching Allan pale even more.

Deirdre leaned in close and whispered in Martin's ear.

"WHAT?" He roared so loudly that his men, who had just come up to the manor, burst in the door, swords ready. Allan back-pedalled quickly toward the back window, sword at the ready. Deirdre shushed Martin and sent the guards back outside, assuring them that everything was all right; she was glad the herb she had given to Guy was strong enough to keep him asleep through  _any_  amount of noise. Martin was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring as he turned his murderous glare slowly up to Allan, whose own eyes widened in fear. The sheriff may have worn the face of evil, but Martin now wore the face of Death. Allan swallowed convulsively and nervously tried to speak, only to be cut off by Deirdre.

"Oh Martin, relax. It's all right. Allan asked me weeks ago to marry him. We were going to wait until we got back to Dun Aisling, but…I got impatient." Deirdre colored at this admission and ducked her head.

"You…you…you got impatient?!" Martin spluttered. He looked back to Allan, who was sweating profusely now. "And you. I'm used to this girl doing rash, irresponsible, reckless, feckless, impetuous…" Martin stopped, his face contorting as he stopped his verbal assault on her character. "But you are a man and you should know better. And if you think that  _I_  am angry, just wait until her father gets his hands on you." Martin turned away, visibly shaking with rage.

Deirdre stood nonplussed; behind her, Allan swallowed, then tried to speak again. "Martin, I'm sorry. I guess we weren't thinkin' about what other people would think. We just wanted to be married, is all. I love 'er Martin, and she loves me, and if there's one thing Deirdre's taught me, it's that that's all that should matter. She makes me want to be a better man, Martin. Can you understand that?" Allan sheathed his sword and stepped out from behind Deirdre, holding his hand out to the older man.

Martin thought of his own beloved wife back at Dun Aisling. Before he had met her, Martin had been lazy, living off the back of his rich friend, Fàelàn. Since he had married Kathleen, Martin had become a hard-working, well-respected captain of the O'Neill's guard. He knew in his soul that the right woman could turn a man around. Sighing in resignation, he turned and smiled ruefully at Allan.

"Aye, I can understand that. But are you prepared for all the trouble this one is? She's two handfuls, and if you had extra hands it'd help." He turned a look full of affection toward Deirdre, who did her best to frown at him before she grinned.

"Just because you're getting old and you can't keep up anymore…"

"I can keep up with you any day of the week, you little troublemaker." 

Deirdre embraced Martin, then stepped back. "Of course you can, but I think it's time we all got our rest." She took Allan's hand and started for the guest room.

"And where do you think you're going?" Martin's voice stopped the two in their tracks.

Allan turned a worried face to Martin, while Deirdre's expression showed confusion as she replied, "We're going to our room."

"Over my dead body. You may say you're married, you may have even…" here he looked slightly sick at the thought, "consummated those vows, but I'll not have you…consummating until you've spoken vows in a church before a priest who blesses the union after your father gives you away. You!" he pointed to Allan, "out to the barn! And you, young lady, to the guest room."

"Now 'ang on a second, Martin. You can't be serious. We're married. You can't expect me to go sleep in a barn while my wife goes and sleeps in that bed in there alone."

Martin strode up to Allan, nearly on top of him, and looked down menacingly at the younger man. "If you have any intention of making it to your real wedding, you'll not argue with me, you damnable ruffian."

Allan was inclined to give way before the older man, but his temper was up too and he was an emotional wreck. The fear and excitement of their wedding the night before, the happiness of the morning and the feeling of loss watching Deirdre ride away with Guy would have been enough to throw him off balance. On top of all that though, had been the fear for Deirdre all day that had turned to dread at the sheriff's words, and then the anger at finding his wife in Guy's arms, coupled with the relief and pride that she had been fine, that she had drugged Guy to protect herself. All he wanted right now was to hold his wife in his arms and her captain of the guard was telling him he couldn't—it was enough to make a man explode.

Deirdre gazed at two of the three men she loved most, looking for all the world like a couple of wolfhounds about to tear each other's throats out. She couldn't bear the thought of them hurting each other, especially over her. She reached out and touched Allan's arm; he looked at her hand in confusion.

"Allan, give me a moment with Martin please." Allan swallowed, vibrating in anger, but turned and walked over to lean on the mantle.

Deirdre spoke softly to Martin. "Martin, we have had a difficult day. And we  _are_  married. I understand that you don't want to believe that since you didn't see it with your own eyes, but it's true. And yes, we have already…" she stopped, flustered, and blushed, lowering her gaze as she finished, "consummated our marriage."

She looked back up at him, determination showing in her deep blue eyes. "Guy was going to try something, I know he was. Luckily, I had already given him…enough wine, but when Allan burst through that door, ready to save me…I don't know, Martin, it just pulled at my heart that he would risk  _everything_  for me. If you had seen the look on his face. He needs me to comfort him tonight as much as I need him to tell me everything's going to be all right. So he and I are going into that room together." Martin tried to break in, but Deirdre laid a finger on his lips. "Hush. Don't worry, I'll send him out before dawn so no one will know he didn't spend the night in the common room, but make no mistake, my husband will  _not_  be sleeping in the barn."

Martin sighed. Deirdre could be very stubborn and in command when she wanted to and when she was in that sort of mood, she usually got her way. She turned and took Allan by the hand, leading him to the guest room. Martin settled grumpily into a chair before the fire with a cup of ale, carefully sniffing it before bringing the cup to his lips.


	25. Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marriage changes things, but sometimes, we still want to try to have it all.

Chapter Twenty-five: Rude Awakening

The light but insistent banging on the door awakened Deirdre from a pleasant sleep. She could hear Martin whispering frantically through the crack by the door-latch.

"Deirdre, time to get up. The manor is waking. Deirdre?"

She rolled over, ignoring the voice, and snuggled up to Allan, who embraced her in his sleep. A moment later, she was shaking him in alarm, having suddenly realized the source of Martin's distress. "Allan, wake up!"

He moaned and smiled, talking in his sleep, "Not again Luv, I'm exhausted."

She shook him harder. "Allan, you have to go. The sun's nearly up and so's the manor!"

Allan sat up with a start as her words sank into his sleep-addled brain. He jumped up and threw on his clothes, pausing by the door to put on his boots, hopping up and down as he did so to try to keep his balance. He had his hand on the door, then suddenly he turned to rush back to the bed to give his wife a long, hard kiss before practically launching himself out the door and into the common room, where he received a slap on the back of the head from Martin.

"Ow, what was that for?" he asked grumpily, rubbing the back of his head.

"The pair of you are idiots and I can't get my hands on her right now," Martin replied, slapping Allan again as the younger man turned to go sit before the fire and make sure his clothes were in order.

"Ow!" Allan cried as Martin’s hand met his skull one more time. He settled down in his seat and glowered up at the captain.

* * *

 In the bedroom, Deirdre sighed and stretched contentedly. She and Allan had “comforted” each other a lot during the night, and she was finding that she very much enjoyed this aspect of married life. She decided that since she was awake, she might as well get up, and by the time the maid came to her door, Deirdre had already stoked the fire, picked up her clothes from the floor, washed up, and dressed. She sprinkled herbs on the bed to freshen the linen and keep the fleas down before wandering out to the common room to find her breakfast.

As she exited the bedroom, Martin and Allan rose to greet her, the one looking grim, the other cheerful. The three ate a light breakfast of bread and cheese and then Deirdre turned to Martin and Allan, "Go and gather the men please. We leave directly." As the two men left the manor, Deirdre spoke quietly to Thornton.

"Thornton, Milord Gisbourne had a bit too much wine last night. We should let him sleep in, yes?"

Thornton smiled at the lady, gratefully accepting the coin she pressed into his hand which would keep the village fed for another month. He knew that the previous night Lady Deirdre had sent him away despite her obvious nervousness around Sir Guy. Being afraid for her, Thornton had spied through the doorway to the servant's quarters; he had watched as she had slipped something into Sir Guy's wine, and had turned away, shaking his head, laughing lightly. This morning he knew exactly why Sir Guy was still sleeping and why the lady wanted to be gone before his lordship woke up.

"Thank you, My Lady. I will see to it that Sir Guy has a good breakfast before he leaves—it will make him feel better, no doubt."

Deirdre smiled back innocently at the butler before impulsively kissing him on the cheek.

"No doubt," she echoed, then was off to the stable. Thornton sighed wistfully—the lady was much like Lady Marian was and Sir Robin's mother had been. It was almost a shame since Sir Robin would not be returning anytime soon, that she seemed unable to abide Sir Guy. Locksley could use a lady with such a giving heart.

* * *

 On the way back, Martin rode up beside Deirdre. He looked to his right and spoke across Alemah's neck to Allan. "Give us a moment alone, if you don't mind, A’Dale."

Allan looked at Martin, raising his left eyebrow questioningly, then relented, turning Samar's head to go back with the men. Martin turned in his saddle to let the men know that he and Lady Deirdre would be riding ahead, then the two nudged their mounts into a canter for a few seconds to give them a bit of distance.

As they slowed to a walk again, Deirdre looked at Martin expectantly. Martin sat back in his saddle, seemingly relaxed.

"You haven't told him yet, have you?"

Deirdre turned back to stare forward over Alemah’s perked-up ears. "Told him what?"

"About the plan. About who you are and what you do."

"He knows some. He knows about Mum. He knows I give to poor people."

"Does he know how often you give to the poor? Or where the money comes from?"

She turned back to look at Martin. "No. But I will tell 'im, I swear!"

He glanced at her quickly.

"You'll not! You'll stop this foolishness now. No more thieving, even if it is for others less fortunate than you. You wanted to be married, so now it's time to grow up, to act like a married woman. Do what you can with your father's money, with your dowry. You've a quick mind, and I hate to admit it, but so does Allan; between the two of you, you can make that money grow. Besides, it's bad enough keeping secrets from the rest of your family, but you should never keep them from your husband. Stop now and you don't have to worry about it."

"I know I should stop Martin, but think how much good we could do with the sheriff's money too!"

"No, Deirdre. It's over. The plan stops now."

"But…"

"Not another word, do you hear me?"

One look at Martin's face and Deirdre subsided. She knew there was no use in fighting with Martin when he was in this sort of mood, and after last night, she decided to let him win this one, or at least to let him think he had. She frowned at Alemah's withers and turned the mare as she and Martin rode back to the others.

Allan rode up and looked at her quizzically. She smiled, but only told him part of the truth.

"Martin was angry about last night. He wanted to give me a tongue-lashing, that's all."

Deirdre felt horrible not telling Allan about the whole conversation, but that would mean telling him about the Thief, and she didn't know if she'd ever be ready to tell him about that. Allan was no do-gooder, but what she did was not exactly what a woman would do, traditionally, and her husband was a bit of a traditionalist in that department. Best to table things. For now.

* * *

Guy frowned up at the rafters in his bedroom. His head was pounding and the light hurt his eyes. The last thing he remembered was holding Deirdre in his arms, thinking that he had her where he wanted her and that once he took her to his bed—willing or not—she would have no choice but to marry him. He looked over at the pillow next to him, expecting to see Deirdre there, but found only emptiness.

He sat up, too quickly, as the pain hit him like a blacksmith's hammer, and stared uncomprehending at his clothed body. Something was very wrong. He turned to the night stand and drank down the water there, then called for Thornton, flinching at the volume of his own voice. When he asked the old man what had happened and listened to his explanation, Guy's feeling that something was wrong turned to certainty. He had meant to take Deirdre last night—he would  _not_ have drunk too much. No matter, his man would return from London any day now and she would be his, even if she had escaped him for the moment.


	26. The Royal Decree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy has figured out a way to make Deirdre his.

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Royal Decree 

The sun was setting low in the sky, painting the clouds in pinks and purples and oranges. A light breeze kicked up, making the air smell of wet earth and new growth. In the gardens, Deirdre and Allan sat on a bench at his reading lessons; they were smiling and talking as Guy strode up with the messenger he had sent out months before. As Guy walked up, Deirdre and Allan turned to look at him and sobered quickly. The look on his face was that of a cat who had finally caught an elusive bird. Guy in a good mood, rather than his usual somber one, could not be good for them.

"Good evening Deirdre.  _Allan_." Guy sneered, before turning back to the lady. "I have good news. My man has returned from London, where he received an audience with Prince John."

Deirdre looked at Guy in apprehension. "Yes, well Sir Guy, that  _is_  good news, but if you'll pardon us, Allan and I were in the middle of a lesson."

Guy smirked, "Shall we see how Allan is progressing? Read this." He handed Allan a piece of rolled-up parchment which had already been read; the royal seal was broken. Allan stared at the words and as he read them, he almost wished he was still unable to read. His face went pale and he swallowed before looking miserably away.

Deirdre touched his shoulder, causing Guy to raise an eyebrow. "Allan, what is it? What's wrong?" When he gave her no answer, instead handing her the parchment, she looked angrily up at Guy before reading it herself; she too paled and swallowed. Guy smiled triumphantly down at the two, meeting Deirdre's troubled eyes with his own cruel ones as she looked up at him.

Deirdre's tongue felt too big for her mouth, words seemed difficult, but she managed to rasp out, "Is this true?"

"I told you Deirdre, that I wanted you to wife. Before summer is done, you  _will_  be the new Lady Gisbourne. Prince John, who speaks for King Richard, has given his consent in this matter and as you know, the royal consent is the royal law. It looks like Allan's  _lessons_  are over." Gisbourne grinned triumphantly, then turned and strode back along the path to the castle, shadowed by his messenger.

The beautiful sunset of earlier had faded into the gloaming, matching their moods perfectly as Deidre and Allan sat in stunned silence. Allan was the first to speak, clearing his throat first. "It'll be all right, Deirdre. I'll find a way 'round this some'ow, I swear. It's what I do."

"How Allan? It's a royal decree. Not even my father can get out of this." Deirdre's voice was flat, as if she had lost all hope. That frightened Allan more than anything else. If she was willing to fight, they stood a chance; if not, they were doomed.

"I don't know 'ow yet, but that man will  _not_  lay 'is 'ands on you, I promise. Trust me." Allan took her chin in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. He waggled his eyebrows at her playfully, trying to lighten her mood. "Do you think after the last couple of nights, I'm just going to give you up without a fight?"

His lighthearted teasing worked and Deirdre colored prettily, lowering her gaze before smiling up at Allan. Looking around quickly to be sure no one was about, he kissed her gently.

* * *

Back in her rooms, Deirdre had cried herself out. When Guy had first barged into the garden, waving around the letter from the king, Deirdre had felt defeated. It seemed like all she had done since she arrived in Nottingham was fight—fight off Guy, fight to get time with Allan, fight to feed the poor and keep them warm and healthy—and she was just plain tired.

As her tears dried, she became angry—no one told her what to do anymore No one. She had taken orders from  _everyone_  when she was a child, but once her parentage was discovered, the tide had turned. Prince John could stuff his royal decree for all she cared—she was already married and would stay so until death parted them. But if the prince found out that Deirdre already had a husband, death might part them sooner rather than later. Prince John couldn't find out that Deirdre was already married, but how else was she to wriggle out of this?

* * *

Allan paced the halls of the castle, unable to sleep or to stay still for long. Thoughts and plans kept jumping around in his head; he would come up with one plan after another, only to reject each one in their turn. He didn't care about the danger to himself, but he refused to put Deirdre in harm's way. He was shuffling around a corner, deep in thought, when he almost ran into Guy.

"What's the matter, lost your way?" Gisbourne sneered at Allan.

Allan wanted more than anything to kill Guy, but Prince John's letter had named Gisbourne a "favoured knight," and Allan had no intention of calling down any royal wrath on his head. He looked Gisbourne square in the eye, "I'm just checkin' the halls, same's every night."

As Allan pushed past him, Guy asked, "Are you sure you're not sulking because I got your girl?"

Allan turned back, doing his best to look confused. "What are you talkin' about?"

"Lady Deirdre. Everyone knows you fancy her. Are you sure you're not angry that she's to become Lady Gisbourne?"

Allan snorted and grinned. "Look Giz, don't get me wrong, Lady Deirdre sure ain't hard on the eyes, and it's not difficult spendin' time with 'er, but she's a lady. She's way out o' my class. So, congrats an' all." Allan turned to continue along the hall, leaving behind a perplexed Gisbourne.

* * *

The door opened to the sheriff's antechamber and Guy stalked in; Vasey didn't even look up from the skulls he was contemplating. "So Gisbourne, looks like you've outwitted  _this_  fox, eh?"

"If you are referring to my betrothal to the Lady Deirdre Milord, I merely went through the proper channels."

Vasey turned a rare smile of approval upon Guy. "Well played Gisbourne. There's hope for you after all. There is one small problem though—your man Allan."

"Allan has assured me he has no feelings for Lady Deirdre."

The sheriff's smile vanished. "Don't be a child Gisbourne! Just because someone tells you something doesn't make it true. Those two idiots are  _in love._ " He looked skyward and batted his eyelashes, before becoming serious again. "Any fool could see it. Even if they don't try to stop the wedding, they'll certainly make you a cuckold if you keep him around. You want my advice? Get rid of him."

"Allan has served me well…"

"Yes, and he'll serve her well too. Just think on it Gisbourne. The two of them. In your marriage bed. Every time Prince John calls you away. Your heirs looking like  _him_." The sheriff's evil laughter followed Guy out the door as he stormed out of the room.

 


	27. Fàelàn O'Niall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Deirdre's father.

Fàelàn O'Niall

By mid-morning, Deirdre had already drafted a message to her father. Surely he would stop this wedding—he had never forced her to accept a man's proposal before and she was certain he wouldn't do so now, either. Fàelàn O'Niall would change the prince's mind, she had no doubt now about that. Just as she was putting on her cloak to go and find Martin, one of his men arrived at her door, slightly winded, but smiling.

"Seamus, what are you doing here?"

"My Lady, Lord Fàelàn is here."

" _What?_  Are you sure?"

Deirdre grinned hugely as she looked down at the parchment in her hand; she and her father always seemed to have a connection. She grabbed Seamus by the arm and ran with him down the stairs and out through the hall into the bright sunshine of the courtyard.

Her father was just arriving. Ignoring proper manners, she bounded past Sheriff Vasey, Sir Guy, and Allan, nearly knocking her father over in her enthusiasm. Laughing deeply, the big man enclosed her in his arms and swung her about, his pleasure at seeing his daughter again obvious. A smaller woman, older than Deirdre and yet stamped with the same beautiful features, smiled gently behind the pair. As O'Niall placed her back on the ground, Deirdre turned and hugged her mother with the same amount of love if not the vigor.

"Mum, Da, I'm so happy to see you. What are you doing here?"

It was Fàelàn O'Niall who spoke up, the smile nearly bursting on his face. "We've come to bring you home, Deirdre."

"Grand. I was preparing to leave very soon myself." She took her parents each by an arm to lead them toward the castle.

"It will take us some time to prepare for your wedding to Sir Guy. He must be an incredible man to have captured your heart." Her father's joyful words stopped her in her tracks.

Deirdre turned back to her father, responding in Irish to him so that the others wouldn't understand her. "Father, I have no intention of marrying Sir Guy. I love another and would marry him instead."

Fàelàn O'Niall looked down in confusion at his beloved daughter. She had sent a message to him through one of Sir Guy's men stating that she loved Sir Guy and wanted to marry him. When Sir Guy's messenger had arrived to beg the prince's permission in the marriage, O'Niall had agreed, thinking that his daughter had at last found love. Now for her to say that she did not want to marry Gisbourne, that she loved another, smacked of his daughter's usual fickleness and angered him beyond reason.

"Deirdre, you told me that you loved Sir Guy of Gisbourne," he responded to her in Gaelic.

"I never…" Her father's upheld hand stopped her words.

"I have already agreed to this marriage before the prince. I will not go back on my word." O'Niall's word was his bond, everyone knew that—it was how he had built such a solid reputation amongst royalty in so many lands.

"But Father, I…"

"Enough Deirdre. You will marry Sir Guy of Gisbourne and that is that. Now come, introduce us to your betrothed."

Deirdre knew better than to argue when her father was in this sort of mood. She would talk to him later, in private, and get him to see reason. O'Niall turned from his daughter and plastered a smile on his face as he walked toward Sheriff Vasey, holding out his hand in greeting and switching back to English as he introduced himself and his wife to the sheriff.

Vasey smiled ferally as he introduced himself and then Sir Guy. Lady Deirdre had been a thorn in his side since she had arrived; he enjoyed watching her squirm as she introduced Sir Guy to her parents. The sheriff invited O'Niall and his wife into the hall, pointedly ignoring Allan.

O'Niall raised a brow as he passed by a young soldier in black. The man had stood just behind and to the right of Gisbourne, likely the knight’s second in command. Deirdre had mentioned something about loving another. This man looked extremely uncomfortable, if not downright miserable. Fàelàn wondered if this could be the man his daughter cared for—if so, O'Niall felt sorry for him.

* * *

 A knock on her door had Marian rising from before the fire. She peeked out to see Deirdre on the other side of the door and opened it wider.

"My parents have my rooms for the night. May I stay with you?"

"Well, well, well. I've barely seen you in months and now you wish to stay with me?" Marian teased.

Deirdre turned miserably away. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll sleep in the hall."

Marian grabbed at the other woman's arm. "No, I'm sorry. Of course you may stay with me. Come in."

Deirdre settled her things and as the two women talked, Marian noticed a difference in her sometime friend. Deirdre seemed subdued, definitely not her usual light-hearted self. As they sat before the fire, Marian asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing, just…" Deirdre shrugged.

"I've heard of your engagement. Is that it?"

Deirdre swallowed and nodded miserably, unfamiliar tears tugging at her eyelashes. Marian reached out for Deirdre, touching her arm. "I'm sure it will be all right. Guy has a side that is good and noble. I'm sure that's how he'll be with you."

Marian's words of sympathy angered Deirdre rather than comforting her. "Really? Then why didn't  _you_  marry him?!"

"Well, because I…" Marian flushed and looked at her hands.

Deirdre was struck by a sudden insight. "You love someone else too, don't you?"

Marian looked up and smiled ruefully before catching the one word Deirdre hadn't meant to slip out. "Too? Does that mean that you…? Who?" It was Deirdre's turn to look uncomfortable as Marian guessed, "Oh no. Surely not Allan?" Deirdre nodded. "I thought he was just a lark!"

"I thought so too at first. I thought I was just attracted to him because he was so handsome and his smile was like the sun, but the more time we spent together, the more I realized I had deep feelings for him. I can't be with Sir Guy because I'm in love with Allan."

Marian stood up and held out her arms to Deirdre, who also stood up and fell into Marian's sympathetic embrace. When she was done sobbing, Deirdre looked up into Marian's blue eyes, which had darkened in sadness for her friend. "You were to marry Gisbourne and you got out of it? How?"

"I ran away. Robin came and rescued me."

"Were there no reprisals?"

"Do you see me living at Knighton Hall anymore? Guy burned our home to the ground and brought me and my father here. After a time, my father was thrown into prison; he escaped and was killed." Marian's voice was flat, the emotion of it all too much to give in to.

"I see." Deirdre couldn't help adding, "So, let me get this right. Guy burned your home to the ground because you refused to marry him, he tortured Allan into becoming his spy...where's this good side that you say he will show to me?"

Marian smiled at Deirdre's sarcasm. "All right, all right. But I do believe the right woman could save him."

Deirdre frowned at Marian. "Yes, well I have no intention of being that woman." Deirdre paused before continuing, "You know however, that my father has already given his word and my father's word is his bond." Deirdre paused again, afraid to ask the next question, but needing to know. "What do you think would happen if I were already married?"

Marian's eyes widened. "You're not?" At Deirdre's uncomfortable shuffling Marian continued in horror. "You couldn't have! When?"

Deirdre gave Marian a small smile, but refused to answer. "What do you think would happen?"

"I think you would become a widow if Guy really wants you."

Deirdre sighed in frustration. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

* * *

 Fàelàn O'Niall paced in his room like a caged beast. "Did you see the look on her face, Bree? She wouldn't even look at me over supper."

Lady Brianna O'Niall, formerly Brianna the kitchen wench, looked in sympathy at her husband. The man was feared by men of power the world over, the mere mention of his name made men tremble and yet he looked ready to cry over disappointing his daughter.

"You know Deirdre. She'll be angry for a bit and then she'll see reason. Remember the last big fight you two had, when she wanted to give all that money to the poor and you said we could not help the poor by completely impoverishing ourselves? She got angry with you, but she saw reason and even came to apologize to you."

"I know, I know. How old was she then? Sixteen? I haven't denied her anything big since then. Did you see her with  _him_? I wonder what could have happened between her letter and now? She obviously loathes Sir Guy. What if he were to have an accident Bree? What if he were out riding one day and fell and broke his neck or was attacked and killed by outlaws or…"

"Calm yourself, Fàelàn. Think of your reputation. Deirdre will come around. She will do what she has to do. It's not fair, but that's often how life is. I only wish she had found her love long before now."

Fàelàn slumped in defeat. "As do I, Milove. As do I."

 


	28. The Secret Passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a castle without secret passages?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The moon shone down, pregnant with its reflected light, onto the silent castle. Heading for the door and her tryst with Allan, Deirdre was silenced by the sound of Marian's whispered question.

"Where are you going?

"I'm restless. I need to go for a walk. I'll be back before morning."

Marian frowned at the other woman. "You're going to meet Allan, aren't you?"

Deirdre gazed steadily at Marian. "I'm going for a walk, that's all."

"You asked me to trust you, yet you don't trust me."

Deirdre frowned. Marian was right. "All right. I  _am_  going to meet Allan. But you can't tell anyone. Please?"

Looking around the empty chamber, Marian gazed ironically at her friend. "Who would I tell?"

Deirdre chuckled and moved to hug Marian before leaving the room.

* * *

 Allan nuzzled contentedly on Deirdre's neck as he held her in his arms. They had made love passionately, the desperation of their situation making it all the sweeter.

"I've 'ad an idea, Luv."

"Tell me." Deirdre snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth of Allan's body behind her.

"It sounds kinda silly, but you said your da never forced you into anythin' before, so why not just tell 'im we're married?"

"Because he's given his word to Prince John and in writing to Sir Guy. My father's word means everything to him—it's how he's become the powerful man he is. If his word was suddenly not worth anything…"

"But 'e didn't know we was married when he gave 'is word to Giz and P.J."

"P.J? _P.J._? Oh Allan, how can you make me laugh at a time like this?" Deirdre snorted softly before sobering. "It doesn't matter that he didn't know. My father is a wonderful man Allan, but if he wants something,  _nothing_  stands in his way. We would have to convince him that  _you_  are the right man for me, not Gisbourne—it's the only way."

“How are we goin' to do that? I'm not bein' funny Deirdre, but Guy's got money and position and land and all I got's quick 'ands!"

"You've got  _fabulous_  hands," Deirdre replied as she got up to gather her clothes. "Come on, get dressed, I need to go talk to my da."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. Why not now?"

"I'm cold. And I was 'oping to show you some new tricks I learned…." He looked at her suggestively, but she returned the look archly.

"Oh really? Where, when, and from whom did you learn these 'new tricks'?"

Allan got up and pulled her to him, grinning as he dipped his head for a kiss. "Come on now, Luv. Surely you're not jealous. You know you're my favorite wife."

Deirdre slapped his chest, avoiding his kiss. "If I'm not your only wife, I'll soon make all of us widows! Now put on your clothes. I'm going to see my da, to see if he'll help us or not."

"We could tell 'im you're carryin' my baby."

Deirdre looked at Allan incredulously before holding out her knife to him. "Do you want to cut it off or shall I? I'm going to talk to him first, see if I can reason with him."

Allan reluctantly turned away to get dressed while Deirdre waited by the door, worrying her lip and silently willing Allan to hurry. As he pulled on his last boot, Deirdre heard voices outside the door. It was the guards on their rounds, but she and Allan had not blown out the candle. The footsteps stopped outside the door and Deirdre turned a frightened face to Allan, whose own eyes had widened at the idea of getting caught. He quietly moved to the fireplace and motioned Deidre to him—on her way, she pinched out the flame from the single candle. The couple moved in behind a low-hanging tapestry next to the fireplace & held their breath. The door opened and a guard peered inside.

"Thought I saw some light in 'ere," he said to his partner.

The other man also peered in and, seeing nothing out of order, smirked at the first guard. "Probably just the moon passin' from behind a cloud's all."

The first guard shrugged and looking around again, closed the door.

Behind the curtain, Allan and Deirdre released the breath they had been holding. Allan had been pressing Deirdre against the wall, protecting her with his own body, but now he grinned down wickedly at her. "So, while we're 'ere…."

She felt his hands tugging at her shirt and pinched his wrist.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Poor timing. Now, let's go talk to my da." Deirdre started to come out from behind the curtain, but Allan's hand on her arm stopped her.

"I know a short cut."

"What are you talking about?"

He grinned again and pushed on a stone next to the mantle. Deirdre watched in fascination as part of the wall opened up. Allan took a flint from the tinderbox in one of his pockets and lit a torch, then beckoned Deirdre to follow him; once inside, he closed the stone door behind them. Ahead of them stretched a hallway—it was cold and damp and very, very dark.

"Where does this go?" Deirdre asked.

Allan waggled his eyebrows at her. "Right by your room."

Deirdre arched an eyebrow. "By?"

Allan grinned, his teeth white in the torchlight. "Yeah, _by_."

"And just how many times have you been… _by_ …my room."

"Aw, darlin' I'm a simple man. I can't count that 'igh."

Deirdre slapped his chest, but couldn't keep from laughing when he looked at her so unapologetically.

"Love of God, what have I done marrying you! Come on, let's just go so I can talk to my da."

They made their way down the hallway, Allan leading the way. They came to a door which Allan passed. Deirdre stopped, calling to Allan. "Hey! We're here."

Allan turned to look at her. "No, that's not it Luv."

"Then what is it?"

"That's the  _store room_  I told you about. Now come on."

As Allan turned back to continue up the hallway, Deirdre gave one last considering look to the door before following him. Soon they came to her chamber's secret door. She looked hesitantly at Allan, who smiled reassuringly at her, before she took a deep breath and pushed on the door. Inside, the fire was banked and Deirdre crept toward the bed where her parents slept. She heard the door close quietly behind her and then Allan's breath was close on her neck. She turned to reprimand him for coming into the room, and stopped cold at the sound of a familiar, commanding voice.

"Stop there and I may let you live."

 


	29. Midnight Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre's father puts Allan to the test. Is he worthy of Fàelàn's eldest daughter?

Chapter Twenty-nine: Midnight Conference

 

Deirdre straightened and turned toward the voice. She noticed Allan reaching for his sword and frantically waved him off behind her back. Allan saw and reluctantly stayed his hand.

"Father." Deirdre spoke quietly.

Fàelàn sounded surprised. "Deirdre? Who's that with you?"

"Father, we've come to talk to you. This is Allan A' Dale. Father, I cannot marry Guy of Gisbourne." Deirdre spoke softly to avoid waking her mother.

"Deirdre, you must. I have given my word." The words, although quiet, were firm.

"I know, Father, and I know your word means everything to you, but…"

"Deirdre, I told you before that you will marry Guy and there's an end to it."

Deirdre was becoming incensed at her father's callous behavior; it was so unlike him and she could not understand his refusal to even listen in this matter.

"I will  _not_ marry Guy, and  _there's_  an end to it! I love Allan." The words she had not meant to speak, the words she was afraid would put Allan in danger, were out of her mouth and there was no taking them back.

Fàelàn had rarely struck his daughter, but he reached out now, only to find his hand blocked by the man who had entered the room with Deirdre.

"I'm sorry, Milord, but I can't let you do that."

Allan's tone was respectful, but unyielding, and Fàelàn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. No one had dared to challenge Fàelàn O'Niall in many years.

"You would challenge  _me,_  boy?" O'Niall seemed not to have noticed his daughter's confession in the face of Allan's defiance.

"To save Deirdre from harm, yeah, I would."

"Do you have any idea how much power I hold in this world?"

"That don't matter. I still won't let you hurt 'er."

Depite himself, Fàelàn was impressed with the younger man. He had watched Guy interact with the sheriff and had wondered what could possibly be going on in his daughter's head for her to choose the dark-haired knight. Guy was a handsome man, but he had seemed lacking in a sense of humor or a spark of imagination—the complete opposite of his daughter. Fàelàn had thought it was just a matter of opposites attracting. He decided to press the matter further, to see what this Allan was made of.

"What gives you the right to say such a thing? I am her father."

Allan was angry. "And I am 'er husb…I care about 'er," he finished lamely, catching himself too late.

"Really. What makes you think that you are a better choice for her than Sir Guy?"

Allan's half-spoken word had not gone unnoticed by Deirdre's father. He knew Allan to be nothing more than a guard, albeit he seemed to be one in charge of things, but that did not matter to O'Niall; he could be a pot scrubber if Deirdre loved him and that would be enough. The only thing O'Niall required was that the man love his daughter enough to protect her, that he love her enough to do what was right by her no matter what.

Fàelàn pushed Allan, to see what he was made of and if he was right for Deirdre. If Allan was her match, Fàelàn would move Heaven and Earth to dissolve the marriage contract to Guy. He had thought before his daughter was being capricious and so he had told her there was no getting out of the contract—now he suspected that there was more to this story than he had been told.

Allan looked back at Deirdre, silently asking if he should say it. Deirdre nodded her assent—if they were to get out of this, they would need her father's support and they would not get that if he thought they were no more than friends or that his daughter's feelings were one-sided.

"I love 'er for one."

"I'm certain you do. She's a rich prize and a rare beauty—that's not too hard to love." O'Niall wanted to make sure Allan truly loved Deirdre, not her money or her position.

"I don't care about all that."

Allan was surprised to find that he really meant it—Deirdre could be plain and a peasant and he would love her the same way. He loved her for her kindness, for her intelligence, for her temper…and for the way she kissed him and made him feel like he was the only man on Earth.

"Good. Then you won't mind supporting her when I disown her." Fàelàn watched as the young couple's mouths dropped and knew his verbal arrow had scored a hit.

It was Deirdre who spoke. "We'll be fine. We don't need your wealth, Father."

Allan swallowed convulsively, watching Deirdre's money, their comfortable future, escape out the door. He had not been prepared to have his new father in-law test his earlier conviction so soon.

Fàelàn noticed Allan's face go pale. "Really? Do you  _both_  feel that way?"

Deirdre was quick to reply. "Yes."

Allan seemed locked in place and only responded after being poked in the ribs by Deirdre.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," he responded grumpily, rubbing his side. He wanted to give Deirdre everything she could ever want; now he would have to work harder to get there. He squared his shoulders and spoke more firmly this time. "We'll be fine."

Fàelàn snorted. " _Fine_  then. But know this, Deirdre; if you do not marry Sir Guy, you may never set foot in my house again. You'll not see your mum or your little brothers and sisters again."

Fàelàn knew this would be the real test. If Allan was selfish enough to want to take her away from her family, he was not the right man.

Deirdre paled. Allan looked at her helplessly. He could not let her make that choice—money was one thing, family quite another.

"Deirdre, I can't let you do this." He took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. "You know I love you. More than anythin'. But you love your family."

"Yes, and I love you too." She turned to her father. "If that's the way you feel, just be sure to make my disinheritance public so Guy won't hold me to the marriage. That's the last thing I'll ask of you ever again."

Allan looked distraught over Deirdre's choice. "Deirdre, please don't do this. I'm not worth losin' your family." He turned to Fàelàn. "I only ask one thing, Milord. I'll…I'll give her to Guy as you have commanded, but if Guy ever hurts 'er, I get my hands on 'im first."

Deirdre was frustrated, angry with her father's stubbornness and with Allan's willingness to give her up so easily.

"What am I? Some bauble you two can haggle over?" Deirdre looked heatedly at both men. "I already told you, I'll not marry Guy! Whether you like it or not, Allan A' Dale, you took vows with me in that chapel and I'll not let you wiggle out of them!"

She punctuated her words by pokes to his chest that drove him back by her father, then turned on O'Niall as well. "And as for you! How dare you talk of how one should only marry for love and then try to sell me off to the highest bidder! I don't care if you are my father, I'll go live in the forest before I let you do that!" Deirdre's color was high now, her famous temper in full swing.

Allan thought she had never looked more beautiful—or more deadly; he was glad she didn't have a sword in her hand. Fàelàn looked nonplussed for a moment before a smile quirked at the corner of his lips and then he suddenly burst out laughing. "You  _are_  my blood for sure! You are right, Deirdre, but tell me, did you have a falling out with Sir Guy?"

"A falling out? I never loved him in the first place."

"Then why did you send me that letter telling me that you did and that you wanted to marry him?"

"What letter?"

"You sent me a letter a couple of months gone by that said you loved Sir Guy of Gisbourne and wanted to marry him." Fàelàn spoke slowly, as though explaining something complicated to a simpleton.

"I never did."

"Then who…" Fàelàn asked in confusion, his eyebrows lowering further as his daughter began to curse.

"That snake. That sneaky, deceitful, treacherous, faithless fraud. That pox ridden, low life…"

"Deirdre, what are you talking about? Who did this thing?" Fàelàn looked from his daughter to Allan.

Allan began to laugh and Deirdre turned a fierce look on him. "I'm not bein' funny luv, but I'm glad 'e did it."

" _What_? Why, in the name of all that's holy, would you be  _glad_?"

"'Cause 'e lied to your da, and probably to P.J. He'll be lucky to get out alive, let alone to wind up married to you." Allan didn't know much about politics, but he figured lying to royalty was probably a  _bad_  thing.

Fàelàn was about to ask them who on Earth they were talking about when he suddenly realized, and then it was his turn to grin. "Your man is right Deirdre. Guy lying to get my approval makes the marriage agreement void. By the way, did I hear something about vows earlier? Is there something I should know?"

Deirdre's face went from rage to uncertainty to rebelliousness in the span of a heartbeat or two.

"Aye. We're married, Allan and I. What of it?"

Brianna, who had been lying quietly in the bed, listening to the whole exchange, suddenly launched herself out from under the covers. She ran to her daughter and hugged her fiercely, then reached for a shocked Allan as well.

"Oh, Deirdre! I'm so glad you've finally found your love. One thing though—you know you'll have to be married proper in a church and all. I told you, Fàelàn. I told you he was the one." Brianna O'Niall smiled in pure happiness. "Now, your father will draft a letter to the prince, demanding compensation for being duped. You and Allan will come with us to Dun Aisling and be married there. And there will be no more talk of disowning anyone." She raised a brow pointedly at her husband.

Deirdre looked back helplessly at Allan as her mother led her off to discuss wedding plans. Allan and Fàelàn eyed each other like two Alpha wolves before a fight. Fàelàn was the first to hold out his hand. "I hope you'll forgive me for putting you through all that before. I had to be sure you were worthy of her, you understand."

"Yeah, well. I probably woulda done the same if I was you." Allan was never one to hold a grudge; he met Fàelàn's handshake firmly. "I'd never hurt 'er, you know. If I thought for one minute that she cared about Guy and Guy'd treat 'er right, I'd insist she go with 'im. At least Guy's got money and land and position."

"Are you trying to talk me back into supporting Guy's claim? I've seen the way my daughter looks at him  _and_ I've seen how she looks at you. Guy is  _definitely_  not the man for her. So, we'll tell Guy that there is no way he's marrying Deirdre and be on our way."

Allan looked at his father-in-law incredulously. "I'm not bein' funny, Milord, but are you tryin' to get us all killed?"

"What do you mean? Sir Guy lied; therefore, his claim is worthless."

"Aye, but Guy wants the money and power your family name can bring him. He won't give that up without a fight."

Fàelàn was tired of all the political intrigue—more than anything, he wanted to retire to his manor with his wife and children, and breed horses. Unfortunately, with King Richard away, Fàelàn was needed more than ever to smooth feathers and broker deals.

"Well lad, my girl would never choose a slow-witted man. What do you suggest?"

 


	30. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre gets caught. Will she wiggle out of trouble?

Chapter Thirty: Confrontation 

The next few days were busy as the O'Niall clan prepared to return to Dun Aisling and Allan prepared for his own departure. He would be leaving just as soon as word reached them that the marriage contract was dissolved. Deirdre and Allan saw little of each other, and when they did see each other in public, they had to be careful to always act like just friends.

Allan found it odd that Deirdre suddenly refused to meet him at night, yet seemed exhausted every day. He found himself watching her around other men, worried at first that despite her professions of love, she had found another. Soon though, his worry went away—the only other men she looked at with close to the same fondness that she gave to him were her father and Martin. When he questioned her about her lack of sleep, she claimed it was nerves and that was easy enough to believe, as he had trouble sleeping at night himself. He was worried that the most important part of their plan hinged on the prince and his reaction to O'Niall reporting Guy's dishonesty. Unfortunately, he could come up with no better plan that his father in-law would go along with than telling the prince about the lie, and putting Guy off by bringing Deirdre back to the relative safety of Dun Aisling until they heard back. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't work on a back-up plan of his own.

Deidre worried also, worried that since the contract had been given the royal consent, the prince would  _not_  rescind it and she would be forced to find some other way out. In the meantime, with the help of Allan's secret passageway, Deirdre began stashing the Sheriff's treasure bit by bit in various parts of her trunks and carriages. She was desperate to get as much as she could and the work was doubly hard without Martin backing her up.

It was the evening before the O'Nialls were set to leave. In the Great Hall, Deirdre and Allan stood talking before the fire. Across the room, Guy watched the couple from over the rim of his wine cup. The sheriff's words about how close the two were had Guy on edge. He liked Allan, but would not stand for him as competition in any form. He watched as Deirdre smiled at Allan, then made her way to her parents to say her good-nights. His glance returned to Allan, who looked up, caught Guy's eye and carefully erased the longing that had been stamped on his face a moment before.

* * *

 

Deirdre waited until Marian was fast asleep before she crept from their room. She made her way carefully and quietly along the halls until she came to the store room where she and Allan had met so many times. She never saw the larger shadow that followed her.

Guy watched as Deirdre snuck out of Marian's room. He followed her quietly as she made her way to one of the store rooms.  _So this is where she meets him_ , he thought bitterly. Silently, he drew his sword, ready to kill Allan for daring to lay hands on the Lady Deirdre. Guy softly turned the door handle and pushed open the door, sword raised for the killing stroke. He looked around in consternation at the empty room, illuminated only by the moonlight.

The tapestry by the fireplace seemed to be swaying slightly, yet there was no breeze. Guy moved cautiously toward the wall, raising the sword to strike, and pushed the drapery aside. He glared in confusion at the empty space, then leaned on the wall in frustration, nearly jumping out of his skin as another part of the wall to his left swung inwards.

The tunnel was dark, except for a flickering light far ahead. Guy sheathed his sword and stepped into the tunnel to follow the light as it moved away. In just a few moments though, he was plunged into darkness as the light disappeared. Guy pulled up short, allowing his eyes to adjust, but the darkness was too much and he was forced to reach his hands out to either wall, feeling his way along. The stone wall was rough and cold on his fingertips, scraping them as he moved, but the pain was slight and his temper was high.

He nearly fell as his right hand found a dip in the wall; looking down, he saw a small glow by the floor. Guy pushed at the section of wall and was rewarded a moment later by the wall moving out slightly toward him, revealing another tapestry from under whose frayed bottom the glow of the flickering light could be seen. He cursed to himself as the opening of the door created a slight breeze which rustled the tapestry –a sharply indrawn breath from the other side revealed that the action had not gone unnoticed by his quarry. He moved quickly to the other side of the tapestry, blocking the exit. She never had a chance to snuff out the candle she had been reaching for. Guy saw Deirdre, saw coins in small bags, and knew what she had been up to. Guy stared in horror.

Deirdre's look of shock had quickly been replaced by calm. She knew that Guy had seen her and that there would be no escape, even if she could get out of the room. "Well, Guy. It seems you've caught me. What do you plan to do about it?"

Guy swallowed hard as he watched his future crumble yet again. He cocked his head to the side and asked in disbelief, "What are you doing here Deirdre?" He didn't want to believe what he had seen when he had walked in.

"I think you know perfectly well what I'm doing here Guy. The question is now, are you going to tell the sheriff?"

Guy was torn. "I must. It's my job."

"Really? Do you like your job so well that you would give up what my family's name could do for you?" Deirdre went on the attack—she would get out of the marriage contract once her father's messenger arrived at court and spoke to Prince John; for now, she had a robbery to get out of. She sashayed up to Guy, using all of her new-found sensuality as she swayed her hips and batted her eyelashes, looking up at him coquettishly. She raised her right hand, placing it lightly on his cheek.

Guy leaned into her touch, closing his eyes and savoring it. "So you are not angry with me? About the contract? You…you don't still want Allan?" He lowered his lips until they were a breath away from hers, reaching down to caress her cheek as well. His lips had barely touched hers when she spoke.

"Of course I'm angry Guy! How could I not be? You went behind my back."

"I told you that if Allan didn't have feelings for you, I would wed you. I merely sent my man to get the royal permission since Allan didn't show any…affection…for you."

"How could he let on even if he  _did_  have feelings for me? I'm nobility and he's a peasant," Deirdre replied bitterly. "What would you have done if you had ever caught him kissing me?" Guy's face hardened. "I thought so." Deirdre turned away, but Guy caught her arm and pulled her roughly to him, forcing his lips onto hers. Deirdre struggled and pulled away, slapping Guy's face hard in her shock.

Guy's voice was rough with controlled fury as he rubbed his reddening cheek. "You are mine now, by royal decree. No one else may touch you—no one!"

His rage frightened Deirdre and before Guy had time to react, her knee came up, dropping him to the floor in agony as she fled the chamber.

* * *

 

The morning was crisp and clear, and Deirdre was ready to be off. The sooner she got away from Guy, the happier she would be. She had a bad feeling that he still might tell of seeing her in the treasure room last night. Alemah danced, her reins jangling, until Guy stepped up and grabbed them.

Guy had a bad feeling that if Deirdre left, she would somehow wiggle out of the marriage contract. He decided that Deirdre needed to stay where he could keep an eye on her and strode up to grab her horse's reins. He looked up at her as she stared straight over his head; reaching up, he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her to the ground. He felt better now that he could look down on her.

"Deirdre, we need to talk." At first, he hadn't been able to see for the rage he had felt when she had kneed him the night before, but as the pain had receded and he had been able to catch his breath, he had seen that she had acted out of fright. Deirdre was too much like a skittish filly. After their wedding night, she would calm down, he was sure of it, particularly once she started giving him children. For now, he would speak calmly but firmly in an effort to bring her to hand.

"We have nothing to talk about Guy. Unless you changed your mind."

"I haven't changed my mind about anything—except one thing. I don't think it would be wise for you to go home. I think you should stay here, where I can be sure you don't  _steal_ away." Guy leaned in to emphasize the word, whispering it in her ear. "We'll be married here in Nottingham and move into Locksley immediately after. It will be easier on everyone this way. You have one month to prepare."

Deirdre looked uncomfortable, but nodded in acceptance. She would have to hope that her father's messenger made it back within the month, or she would have to find a way to stall Guy. So much for sending for Allan from the safety of Dun Aisling; now they would still have to sneak around. If she didn't go along though, Guy could—and had made it clear that he would—turn her in as a thief.

Deirdre went to speak to her parents while Guy shouted for his men to begin unloading her trunks. Deirdre's father had dismounted and was striding angrily over to speak to Guy when Deirdre heard the shouting and the crash. She turned to see two of Guy's men on the stairs with one of her trunks, which had slipped from their hands and crashed, opening the secret compartment in the bottom. Silver and gold coins spilled from the opening; Deirdre went pale as she watched the coins slip down the stairs, a sparkling conviction of her thievery.


	31. Imprisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you wiggle out of trouble when you are actually caught eating the cookies, as it were?

Chapter Thirty-One: Imprisoned

Vasey had been standing at the top of the stairs, hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his heels as he looked down at the scene of Deirdre and her parents leaving. Deirdre was a nuisance that he would just as soon see gone, although he would miss the income from lodging her and her men. He looked down at Allan, standing a few stairs up from the courtyard looking very uncomfortable, and smiled evilly. Glancing back at Deirdre, he saw Guy stride up and take her down from her horse and he frowned in confusion. A minute or two later, he watched as Guy's men began to unload Deirdre's things and his frown deepened.

Vasey began to head down the stairs to ask Guy exactly what the devil he was doing when one of Guy's guards tripped, bringing the chest he'd been carrying with another man crashing to the ground on the stairway. Vasey watched as coins began spilling down the stairs; he thought nothing of it, many nobles kept their money in safe hidden areas in their boxes or clothing. What angered him was the delay in Deirdre's departure. He glanced down in disgust at the guards as he continued toward Guy, then stopped as something caught his eye. Vasey bent down to pick up one of the coins, rubbing his thumb along the nick cut into the edge. He ran his hands through the growing pile of coins, finding more coins that had nicks in them, his anger growing with each nicked coin he found. He turned, shouting for his guards. "Seize her!" he shouted, pointing at Deirdre.

Allan moved, getting ready to draw his sword and was stopped by the look on Deirdre's face and the slight shaking of her head. He frowned but acceded, though his hand never left his sword hilt.

Guy stood still, swallowing convulsively and closing his eyes as the sheriff's guards moved past him to grab Deirdre by her arms.

Fàelàn had to be stopped by a large group of guards. His daughter's voice further stopped him. "Father!" Fàelàn stopped struggling and turned toward his daughter. Deirdre never called him father unless she really wanted something or was trying to get his attention; it was always 'Da.' "Please stop. I'll be all right. Just go home. Like you  _planned_. I'm sure the sheriff and I can clear up this misunderstanding in no time."

Deirdre's raised eyebrows added the proper emphasis and Fàelàn reluctantly nodded his head, looking at his daughter in confusion. He didn't know where the money had come from and it looked like he would get no answers right away. Deirdre had said it was a misunderstanding and he was sure that's all it was, otherwise his daughter was a thief, and much as he loved her, he'd never be able to trust her again. "What's going on Deirdre?"

"Father..."

"What's going on? What's going on? These are  _my_  coins in your daughter's trunks!" The sheriff stretched his neck, but still only came up to Fàelàn's chin. His eyes were wide and tinged with a fanatical light that made O'Niall wary in the way small rabid animals made even larger ones edgy.

"How do you know for sure?" Fàelàn challenged.

"I know because I had them marked."

" _Marked?_  Are you truly that paranoid?"

"Paranoia is an unreasonable fear. It seems I have reason," Vasey lectured, pointing to the coins on the stairs.

"There is an explanation, Sheriff Vasey, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, there's an explanation all right. The explanation is that your daughter is a thief!"

O'Niall reached for his sword, and from the corner of her eye, Deirdre saw Allan reaching for his own to back up her father. She couldn't let them be hurt or killed because of her. "Da! Father, please!" she yelled urgently, as the dozens of guards in the courtyard also reached for their swords. Fàelàn's eyes blazed, but he let his sword hand fall back to his side. "Please just go home and wait for me. I'll be there shortly," Deirdre pleaded.

"If you harm one hair on her head, Sheriff, your own will be on a pike," Fàelàn growled.

Vasey was not nearly sane enough to take the threat for the promise that it was. As Fàelàn turned to leave, the sheriff called out, "Just a moment, O'Niall. Under the circumstances, you won't mind if my men search _your_ carts?" Vasey watched in satisfaction as the large Irishman came to an abrupt halt, squaring his shoulders before turning back.

"Of course not. But it will be under  _my_  supervision."

"Of course." The sheriff smiled pleasantly at the prince's advisor. "I trust you will be leaving once the search is done?" Without waiting for an answer, Vasey turned and ascended the stairs once more. At the top, he turned to look down at the guards still holding Deirdre. "Oh and take  _her_  to the dungeon." He glanced at the other guards who hadn't moved to search O'Niall's carts yet. "When you're done with the father's carts, check the daughter's. Break everything. If there are more coins, I want them found."

Vasey looked to Guy standing in the courtyard as Deirdre was jostled up the stairs past a helpless-looking Allan and into the castle. "You," Vasey sneered, "have terrible taste in women. You and Allan see to it that every coin is returned to its chest, then find out how she got into my treasure room. Unless one of you let her in to do a little  _shopping_ , hmm? Perhaps in exchange for a favor or two?" Vasey's look was dangerous and both men blanched further, quickly denying the accusation. Neither of them would be able to help Deirdre if they, too, were locked away in a cell. Vasey growled low in his throat before turning on a slippered heel to re-enter the castle

Allan and Guy turned distractedly to the task of making sure none of the coins slipped into the guards' pockets by mistake. The guards, for their part, seemed disinclined to even consider pocketing a coin or two after seeing the sheriff lock up the sweet Lady Deirdre for her theft.

* * *

 On the road south to Dun Aisling later that day, Fàelàn was receiving a tongue-lashing from his wife. She had to be physically stopped from going back to free Deirdre herself. Fàelàn held Brianna's arms to her sides as she struggled in his grasp, managing to land a couple of painful blows to his shins in the process.

"Calm yourself Brianna. Martin is still there, and if I know Deirdre, she has a plan. When was the last time you saw her give up without a fight? We have a plan to get her out of her wedding to Guy and that's what we need to concentrate on. If she needs us, she will find a way to send for us. Besides, Allan would not let anything happen to her. We have to believe that." Fàelàn's words sounded hollow, even to his own ears, and his heart nearly broke as his beloved wife collapsed against his chest, sobbing as though the world were ending.

* * *

 In her cell, Deirdre paced around, taking stock of her surroundings, searching for weaknesses. She had been dressed for travel, not thievery, and had no picks for the lock; she thought of her hairpins, but knew she could try nothing before darkness gave her enough cover to escape. She stopped her restless movement when she heard a familiar voice that made her heart stop, then race like an out-of-control stallion. How was she going to explain this to Allan? She knew he would be angry, yet she couldn't stop herself from standing at the bars; when he came to visit her, she wanted to be as close to him as possible.

Allan walked up to her cell, looking grim. He reached out to touch her hand, but even here the walls had eyes and so he kept the contact brief. He looked into her beautiful blue eyes and steeled himself for what he had to do. He did not want to be the one to tell her and yet she had to know—she would want to know. He swallowed hard, began to speak, stopped as the words nearly choked him.  _Ironic_. He looked down at the ground, then back up nervously, his heart in his eyes. "Deirdre…"

"Allan…" They spoke at the same time. Neither one laughed.

"Deirdre, the Sheriff's good and mad. I ain't seen 'im this mad since last fall. There was this woman, see, who stole his best horse…" Most people wouldn't have seen the guilt that flashed for a moment across Deirdre's face, but in the past few months that face had become dearer to Allan than his own mother's; he knew every laugh line, every wrinkle from the sun, every freckle on her nose. He stopped speaking to look at her in horror, swallowing again before raising his hand to run it through his hair in exasperation. He turned slightly away, then back, moving in closer so no one would hear. "You?"

Deirdre nodded glumly, ducking her head, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"Do you have  _any_ idea…? I mean the Sheriff was havin'  _fits_! And then when you escaped! I'm not bein' funny Deirdre, but for a month 'e whipped anybody who got in range. If 'e finds out…" Allan looked scared.

"What, Allan, he'll hang me?" Deirdre asked ironically. Allan looked uncomfortable. "Look, Allan, I know the Sheriff plans to hang me. In the morning, am I right?"

Allan nodded miserably, head hung low, before looking up at her again. "I'll figure something out Deirdre, I swear."

"Look on the bright side, at least I'm out of the wedding contract now. Even if I somehow make it out of this alive, Da will have to disown me and Guy won't want me anymore. So all I've got to do is survive and we'll be fine."

Deirdre grinned ruefully and Allan couldn't help but smile back. The smile didn't—couldn’t—reach his eyes though, as the pain there was too great. She was saucy, his wife, even in the face of death, but right now he needed to tell her how he felt, before it was too late.

"Deirdre, you know I love you, more than I've ever loved anyone."

"Allan, please don't. Don't say good-bye. This'll work itself out somehow, you'll see."

Suddenly, Allan didn't care about the eyes that might see them; he reached through the bars and pulled her toward him, his mouth meeting hers in a deep, desperate kiss of longing before he pulled away to stride quickly out of the dungeon. He had work to do if he was going to save his wife. 


	32. Incarceration

Chapter Thirty-Two: Incarceration

Guy stood before the sheriff, whose ranting had finally calmed down to the occasional blow with hand or foot to whatever was handy. The sheriff's face had faded from a frightening blood-red mask until only his neck and ears were still ruddy. Guy wanted to give his lord more time to calm down, but knew if he waited too long, Deirdre would be dead. Clearing his throat nervously, Guy prepared to talk to the sheriff; he heard the door opening behind him and turned to see Allan stride in.  _Great, now all we need is Marian to show up._ As if on cue, the dark-haired woman entered the room. The sheriff frowned as she called to him, pushing by a troubled-looking Allan.

"Milord Sheriff, a word if you would?"

Guy's shoulders slumped as he watched all hope for approaching a semi-calmed down sheriff dissipate like morning mist in the sun. The sheriff turned an adder-like gaze to Marian, glaring spitefully. "Of course, someone's in trouble, so here comes Robin Hood—oops, Lady Marian. I know, I know, Lady Deirdre is poor and needs the money to feed her family. Or perhaps someone else put all that money of  _mine_  in her trunks, eh? What sorry excuse do you have for her, Missy?"

Marian composed herself carefully, wary of inflaming the sheriff more, afraid that in trying to help her friend, she may already have done more damage. "Milord, Lady Deirdre was wrong to steal from you." The sheriff raised an eyebrow, but did not interrupt. "I believe it was just a lark, that she stole from you to see if she could. She often spoke of being bored, so maybe it was for the fun of it. You've proved your point—that she can't get away with it, so perhaps you should keep her locked up for a day or two, then release her as a sign of your mercy. It would also give you something to hold over her father, that you were the one who caught his daughter doing something foolish, but let her go. He would owe you a debt of gratitude—you know how the Irish feel about such debts. You would have Fàelàn O'Niall's  _eternal_  gratitude."

Marian watched the effect her words had on the sheriff. He turned away from her, pacing the room. "So we let her sit in the dungeon, sweating over her impending death for a day or so? Hmm. I hate to say it, Marian, but your idea has merit. Let's make it a week though, shall we? Amongst all the filth and the vermin—and then there's the dirt and the rats—perhaps it will teach her a valuable lesson."

Guy saw his chance and jumped in. "And at the end of her incarceration, she will become my wife. Immediately. I will bring her to Loxley and teach her respect, so she never troubles you again." Guy's voice was low and threatening, his meaning clear. He was quite angry with Deirdre for doing something so foolish-once she was his wife, her foolishness would not be tolerated.

The sheriff turned to Marian. "You're dismissed. I will not kill your friend for her thievery."

"Thank you, Lord Sheriff." Marian left, making her way outside for some fresh air—dealings with the sheriff always left her feeling a bit nauseated.

Allan let out a breath and closed his eyes in relief—now that Deirdre was safe from immediate death, he could concentrate on rescuing her from her now imminent marriage. He decided to talk to Martin, hoping the man could either get a faster messenger to the prince or a message to O'Niall about the need for additional haste. Thankfully now that haste would be for stopping a marriage, not a noose.

The sheriff smiled evilly as he watched Marian and Allan go, turning to Gisbourne to add. "But if your wife ever steps out of line again—powerful father or not— _you_  will become a widower. Make no mistake on that, Guy. No mistake."

Guy swallowed convulsively. "Of course, Milord."

"By the way Gisbourne, how  _did_  she get into that store room in the first place, eh? Playing footsie with your boy? Find out or I will."

* * *

Deirdre paced her cell—it always made her restless to be caught up indoors, and in a one room cell that smelled of urine, feces and vomit, it was twice as bad. She had only one day to escape, and even so, she had to wait until dark. She heard the soft whisper of slippered feet on the stone stairs and turned to face the sheriff, careful to school her face into a look of sheer terror. She even managed to squeeze out a couple of quick tears to dampen her eyelashes. Deirdre knew the sheriff wouldn't show her any sympathy, but it would stroke his ego, making him think he had won, and perhaps throw him off balance enough to give her a slight edge. She swallowed hard and looked shamefacedly up at her captor, shoulders drooping and head hung in defeat. "Milord Sheriff," she whispered, letting her voice tremble.

"Lady Deceiver." Vasey's voice dripped disdain. "It seems, my little miscreant, that you have been a very naughty girl. Do you know how we punish naughty girls here in Nottingham?"

Deirdre let her bottom lip tremble and swallowed again, looking pleadingly at the sheriff, who was enjoying her seeming discomfort.

Leaning his face in close between the bars, Vasey batted his eyelashes and "tsked" at her. "Such a shame. Such a pretty little neck. Just the right length. It would be horrible to see it…stretched?"

Deirdre's face drained of all color. She brought a stammer to her voice. "Milord Sheriff, surely you jest?" At his sardonic look, she continued, "I did not know! In my father's lands, theft is punished by time in the stocks. I was just having some fun. Please, Milord! I promise, I won't ever do it again! My father will pay you for your trouble!" Deirdre dropped her head to her hands and began to sob hysterically.

"Of course you won't do it again—dead women don't steal, do they?" The sheriff laughed deeply at his own joke, then sobered. "Hmm…Perhaps a ransom  _would_  be better. Your father is, after all a very influential man." Vasey turned to amble off, speaking again as he descended the stairs. "I won't hang you…" At the bottom, he paused and added, "Yet." Humming merrily to himself, he traipsed off out of the dungeon.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Deirdre stopped sobbing abruptly. "Evil little toad," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

 Allan found Martin pacing angrily in the stables. The captain turned and spied Allan, nearly running in his eagerness to find out what had happened.

"Allan! What have they done with her? Where is she?  Is she truly in the dungeons? What does the sheriff plan to do? Is she okay?"

Allan looked at Martin, then jerked his head to the side, spotting a quiet place where they could talk. "Look," Allan spoke softly, "The sheriff aint going to kill 'er. She's in the dungeons. For a week. She's all right for now, but when she gets out, she's to marry Gisbourne right away and 'e's goin' to bring 'er to Loxley. We got to get a message to O'Niall that the weddin's been moved up. Can the messenger get to the prince and back in a week?"

"Are you insane? We've got to figure out some way to postpone the wedding for at least a month, maybe longer." Martin sighed in frustration.

"How're we gonna do that? The sheriff's right mad and Gisbourne's determined to not let 'er get away." Allan's eyes showed his frustration as he looked at Martin.

Martin responded to Allan in an aggravated tone, "She's got herself into a proper mess this time." The two men leaned against the wall, arms crossed over their chests, frowning in concentration.

 


	33. Escape Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly everyone wants to help Deirdre escape the hangman, but will any of them be successful before she dangles?

Chapter Thirty-three: Escape Plans 

Guy steeled himself. Deirdre had been in the cell for a full day now. He didn't want to know how she had found the passage, but if he didn't find out…Guy hated to think of what would become of his lady if the sheriff got his hands on her. His old friend Lambert had not fared so well in the sheriff's hands and he wanted a bride who was still in one piece. Deirdre lifted her head as he approached, but remained sitting with her back against the far wall of the cell, legs stretched out before her, ankles and arms crossed in a very un-ladylike manner. She gazed at him sardonically.

"So did the sheriff change his mind?" she asked Guy.

Guy sniffed and looked down and away, dreading the question—no, the answer. "Deirdre, how did you get into that store room?"

She looked askance at him. "That  _was_  you who found me, wasn't it?"

Guy's eyes widened—if Vasey found out that he had known about her thievery and hadn't turned her in ...

"Keep your voice down! I meant, who told you about the passage?"

Deirdre gave him a measuring stare, before letting the lie slide easily off her tongue. "I found it myself."

Guy grimaced in disgust—whether at himself or at her he didn't know. "You once told me you wouldn't lie to me."

"You once told me that you wouldn't marry me against my will."

"This is no game, Deirdre. The sheriff … there'll be Hell to pay. He wants to punish someone."

Deirdre glanced around her cell in mock consternation. "So  _this_  isn't punishment? Hmm. Here I thought the sheriff was mad at me."

"Why must you joke?"

"Why  _can't_  you?"

Guy closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, leaning his forehead against the cold of the cell's metal bars, hoping to ease the throbbing just behind his temple.

"Deirdre, I must have a name. If  _I_  don't get an answer from you, the sheriff has sworn to get it from you himself."

He looked at her meaningfully, but she just held his gaze.

When she spoke, her words were measured, precise. "I told you, Guy. I was bored one day in my room. I leaned against the wall and the door opened. I followed the passage and found it went to the other rooms."

He wanted to believe her, to believe that Allan had nothing to do with it, that she had nothing to do with Allan beyond swordplay and reading lessons. He took a deep breath.

"Please Deirdre, tell me that Allan didn't show it to you. Tell me that you never met him in any of those rooms."

He hated that his voice sounded so pathetic, so pleading, so weak.

Allan could have been caught in the room with her and she would never have admitted his part in it. She blinked and got up, sauntering over to Guy.

"What's this really about, Guy? Is this about the sheriff wanting a patsy? Or is this about your own insecurities? All right, Allan was there with me. We're lovers. He showed me the passage one night when we almost got caught. We also had a nice little side business making jewelry from some of the coins. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Deirdre knew she was taking a chance, giving him the truth couched in sarcasm and wrapped in a ridiculous lie, but she thought Guy would never buy the denial spoken out plainly. She snorted and shook her head in disdain.

"You should have more confidence in yourself Guy—if you did, you would  _own_  the sheriff, rather than vice-versa."

Guy looked away in embarrassment, the possible truth of her words and the insinuation that he belonged to the sheriff hitting too close to home; he slammed the cell wall with a gloved hand and turned to stalk away.

* * *

In the sheriff's quarters, Guy had finished giving his report to Vasey, who was looking at him contemptuously.

"And you believed her?"

"I did, Milord. I do."

"More the fool you."

"Milord, why would Allan make such an elaborate security system and then let someone steal from the room? He would know that suspicion would fall on him. I don't think he helped Lady Deirdre. I believe that she found the passage all by herself."

"You  _believe_. Well, I believe you are a fool Gisbourne! You just don't want me to hurt your bride or your boy. Don't worry, I'll leave your little toys alone. For now. Keep in mind though, that  _you_ will take the fall if there's ever a next time, and I won't be so civil about it. Oh, and if there are any coins missing, it's coming out of  _your_  pay."

* * *

 

Guy returned to his Nottingham quarters and threw his gloves to the table. He flung himself into the chair before the fire, and grabbed a cup of wine, gulping it down angrily. Deirdre was a conundrum. After the debacle with Marian, Guy had sworn to himself that he would never express feelings for a woman again, yet he had made a fool of himself in front of Deirdre by asking about Allan. To make matters worse, she had told him his fears were true, but with Deirdre, it was sometimes hard to tell joking from reality. He heaved the cup into the fire as he jumped out of the chair and began stalking the room.

He hated to admit it, but this marriage was more than just a contract to him. Just as he had with Marian, he had feelings for Deirdre. When she had first arrived, they had laughed together; somewhere along the line, that laughter had been lost and he wanted it back. Deirdre had made him feel alive, to feel like he could love again, to feel like his dream of having a family could really become reality. In less than a week, Deirdre would be his, but he had to know the truth; he had to know if she was involved with Allan.

* * *

 Allan was crossing the yard when he saw Martin and his men mounted and preparing to leave. He crossed quickly over to them, confusion stamped on his face.

"Martin, where're you goin'?"

"The sheriff has … requested … that we leave. Immediately."

"But what about Deirdre?" Allan implored of the captain.

"It's up to you to keep her safe now, Allan. We're all counting on you, especially Deirdre."

Martin turned his horse and left, leading his men through the gate.

"Not too much pressure, eh?" Allan said to himself.

* * *

The sun was still high in the sky as Allan entered the castle to get dinner. He was just finishing, sopping up the juices from the meat with the last of his bread when Guy walked in.

"We need to talk."

Guy looked pointedly at Allan before heading for the door, expecting that his man would follow him immediately.

Allan quickly stuffed the last of the bread into his mouth, and wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve as he jumped up and hurried to follow Gisbourne. He had a bad feeling that Guy didn't want to talk about the weather or the security at the gates.

Outside, Guy had stopped for a moment at the top of the stairs, waiting impatiently for Allan to catch up. When he heard Allan's footsteps behind him, Guy descended the stairs and crossed the yard to the stable. He continued on into the cool shadows of the barn, then turned to stare haughtily down his nose at his second in command.

"Are you, or are you not, in charge of the security of the Treasury Room?"

Allan swallowed nervously, looking around at the empty stalls for a possible escape route. He had been expecting the question to arise, but dreading it nonetheless.

"Yeah, I am."

"So tell me, how did Deirdre get into that room to steal the sheriff's gold?"

"I don't know, Guy. Are you sure she stole it? Maybe she got it in change in the town—you know, for all the stuff she bought."

Guy looked at Allan like he was an idiot, which fit right in with Allan's plan—idiots weren't usually smart enough to be considered suspects.

"Come on, Allan. Don't take me for a fool. You know that's the money the sheriff uses to fund the Black Knights—it never gets used in Nottingham. Besides, if she hadn't stolen it, she would've protested much louder about being accused of thievery. How did she get into the room, Allan?"

"I don't know, I swear, Guy!"

Allan looked at Gisbourne wide-eyed, trying to look innocent. He knew she must've found the door again after their midnight meeting with her father, but at the time, he hadn't known what she was up to.

"Allan," Guy closed the distance between them and put a hand on Allan's shoulder conspiratorially. He looked into Allan's eyes, gauging the shorter man, trying to appear friendly.

"Allan, if she charmed you into letting her into that room, it's understandable. She's a beautiful woman, and most any man would do whatever she asked for the pleasure of a kiss. Did she offer you … anything … to let her in? You won't be in trouble. I just need to know how she got in."

If Allan had been caught kissing her, he would've sworn to Guy that she had fallen and he was helping her to get her balance back. Allan was no fool—he knew exactly how much trouble they would be in if Guy found them out.

"I swear, Guy, I never let 'er into the Treasure Room and she never offered me … anythin' to let 'er into it."

"But you have feelings for her? You're attracted to her? You've spent time with her."

"Well, yeah. Like you said, Guy, she's beautiful.  _And_  I've gotten to spend a bit o' time with 'er, but I never let 'er into that room. Never."

Guy nodded, dismissing Allan with the gesture. Something wasn't quite right, but he hadn't seen any lies in Allan's eyes. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but the sooner he and Deirdre were safely married, the happier he'd be.

* * *

Days after his encounter with Guy, Allan was still a nervous wreck. He had a plan—well, half a plan, as Robin used to say. It certainly wasn't his best plan, and Deirdre would not be able to live as a lady for a time, but it was all he could come up with to save her from the marriage contract.

To make matters worse, his preparations were hindered by the suspicions of both Guy and the sheriff—it seemed to Allan that every time he went near either of his bosses, their eyes were looking into his soul and judging him. It irritated him—too many people judging him—and reminded him of why he loved Deirdre so much; she accepted him as he was without judgment. He would've helped her even if she wasn't his wife. He only hoped that Marian had gotten a chance to stash the clothes he had asked for or the rescue would be over before it began.

* * *

 Marian didn't know why Allan wanted the outfit, but she stashed the bundle where he had asked her to. It made her edgy that she didn't know exactly what he was up to. He had refused to tell her, saying that the less she knew, the better for her. All he wanted was to borrow some clothes for a time. Looking around to be sure she hadn't been followed, Marian made her way to the dungeons for her daily visit to Deirdre.

* * *

"Why won't you get it for me? It's a simple thing." Deirdre was whispering, but her anger was still clear. Marian had already told her of the sheriff and Guy's plan to keep her incarcerated for a week and then marry her off to Guy immediately afterward.

Marian looked at the blond woman in the cell. Deirdre looked very little like herself; rather, she was dirty and disheveled. She had refused to tell Marian why she wanted the agrimony, but when Marian had asked an apothecary for the herb, he had cautioned her about its dangers—mainly that it could cause one to go to sleep and never wake up.

"It's not a simple thing," Marian whispered back. "I'll not let you kill yourself!"

"What if it just  _looked_  like I killed myself?"

"Deirdre, no. It's too dangerous. I'm sorry. Allan has a plan of some sort."

"I'm sure he does and so do I if you'll only  _help_  me!"

Deirdre looked at the stubborn set of her friend's jaw before blowing out an aggravated breath. "What sort of plan?"

"I don't know," Marian admitted in frustration. "He won't tell me—says it's to protect me."

Deirdre smiled ruefully. "Then I'll just have to trust Allan." Her smile turned to a frown. "And if he lets me down, I'll have Guy fire him, first thing after the wedding."

 


	34. Runaway Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre is set free to prepare for her wedding. Will Guy lose yet another bride?

**A/N: Thanks as always go out to whatsthefracas and girlonthehill for their fabulous beta skills—I would look like a novice without you (perhaps even a novice novice trying to write a novel? :) ).**

Chapter Thirty-four: Runaway Bride

Deirdre moved restlessly around her cell. It had been a week now—a week of eating little bits of bug-ridden food, drinking stagnant water, and sleeping on a flea infested cot. She counted her blessings that Guy had seen fit to come down and order her given a cell that was removed from the other occupied cells and so she was given relative peace. Still, Deirdre had been unable to wash and she itched all over from bugs, bug-bites, and general filth. Her hair was lank and greasy, she stank, her stomach was in a constant state of discomfort—she hadn't been this dirty since her first stay in Nottingham's jail last autumn. She was also worried and angry that Allan hadn't been to see her since that first day, nor had Guy been down to visit since his last interrogation. The only one who had come to see her every day had been Marian, and since she refused to get Deirdre the herbs she requested, Marian had been a source of irritation rather than of comfort.

It was in this generally bad mood that Guy found Deirdre as he stepped into the gloom of the dungeon. He was in a buoyant mood himself; by the next night she would be his, and his place in the world would be that much more secure. His mood soured as he looked upon his beautiful bride-to-be in the squalor of the dungeon. Had he not known her from before, he would have been hard-pressed not to run from the idea of the marriage that he had arranged for himself. On top of her physical appearance, she turned a look on him that dropped the temperature of the rooms; Guy could almost swear he saw his breath. She would definitely be a challenge, but Guy was tired of fighting—he would have to break her hard, and quickly, if he was to have a life of ease in his own home. He was disappointed to find that not only had prison life not done the job for him—rather, it seemed to have made his impending task that much harder. Instead of being meek and mild, she seemed more like a wild thing that would tear off his hand if he held it out to her. He swallowed and squared his shoulders as he walked up to her cell, keys in hand. He opened the door and she stayed, glaring wordlessly at him.

"Deirdre, you'll come with me." He gave the command and turned to walk away, then turned back in confusion when he didn't hear movement. Deirdre stood staring at him, eyebrows arched haughtily, arms crossed over her chest belligerently. He growled at her, "Well, don't you want out?"

"That's all you have to say to me? I've been in here a whole week and you haven't come to visit me since…" Deirdre paused as a new thought sparked in her mind; the thought that maybe he had changed his. She blew carefully on the embers of the idea, hoping for it to grow into a flame that would warm her hopeless heart. She dropped her attitude quickly, letting her shoulders and head sag in defeat.

"You must be very disappointed in me, Guy. I'm sorry I couldn't be the wife you wanted. I'm certain that my father will pay you for your trouble."

Guy lowered his eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Deirdre looked up doe-eyed at Guy. "I assume you will want to break the marriage contract, seeing as my reputation is no longer without blemish."

Guy snorted in derision and shook his head, turning slightly away before turning back to her. "If you think that you can so easily get out of the marriage contract, you are mistaken."

Deirdre raised her eyes to him incredulously. "Easily? Easily? You think robbing the sheriff, getting caught, getting thrown into this place, eating this 'food,' is easy?"

Guy grinned at her, his laughter this time containing a trace of humor.

Deirdre gave him a light laugh herself before sobering. She stepped toward him. "Seriously Guy, let me out of this contract and you will still be rewarded greatly. My father will pay handsomely and perhaps I can even get him to give you a position in his household. You would never have to worry about your place again."

Guy's face dropped. "Am I truly so horrible?"

"Guy, you know that's not it. You are a fine man. You deserve someone who can love you—I cannot."

Guy's expression hardened as he turned from her. "Come with me. The sheriff has agreed to release you."

Deirdre followed Guy cautiously. "Where are we going?" she asked as they ascended into the main hall and crossed to the stairwell that led to the bedrooms.

"We are going to get you cleaned up and looking like a proper lady again," Guy responded without looking back. He led her to her rooms and she stepped inside, greeted by the sight of a steaming tub fragrant with herbs. She wanted desperately to dive in head first and soak for days.

"Betsy will be by in a moment to attend you. You will stay in your room. Food will be brought to you. Sleep well." Guy looked at Deirdre, waiting for her to express her gratitude.

Deirdre looked skeptically to the sun, still high in the sky, and then turned to accuse Guy, "Am I to exchange one prison for another then?"

Guy blinked, nonplussed, before glaring at her. The woman was absolutely infuriating. She should be grateful that she was not to hang. She should be thankful that she was to have a bath, and proper food, a maid to attend her. She should be on her knees thanking God that her husband-to-be was young and strong and not unattractive, rather than some toothless old man. Here she was, complaining about it all instead. Guy's fists flexed involuntarily and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to hold in his temper. "You will do as you are told, woman. You had better get used to that," he added, striding angrily out of the room.

Deirdre stood staring at the door for a moment before undressing and stepping into the bath with a sigh of sheer pleasure. By the time Betsy came, Deirdre had fallen asleep.

* * *

 The smell of fresh-baked bread and meat pies awoke Deirdre. She inhaled the scent, letting it wash over her, and then stared in confusion at the pillow under her head. Betsy sat before the fire sewing. The maid looked up as Deirdre raised her head and sat up.

"Well, you've slept away the day," Betsy scolded with a glance to the dark sky.

Deirdre glanced anxiously at the window. She got up and quickly dressed in her riding pants and dark cloak, pulling her golden hair up tight on her head.

Betsy looked to her mistress warily. "What are you up to?"

"Look Betsy, Guy plans on marrying me tomorrow and I'm  _not_  going to stay around for the ceremony."

"Where will you go? How will you get out?"

"I don't know yet." Deirdre expelled a breath in frustration, "But I can't stay here." She opened the door and was greeted by two sheepish-looking guards.

"Sorry, Milady," said the one on her right, "but we can't let you out. Orders from Sir Guy."

Deirdre sighed, closing the door, and strode to the back wall; opening the panel, she found another equally sheepish guard. She had helped the families of many of the guards—the ones at her doors were among them. She frowned at the man's refusal to move and went back into the room to think. She wanted to escape, but could she hurt or possibly kill one of these men—men she knew—to do it? Deirdre went to the window and looked down, knowing already that it was too far of a drop. She collapsed into a chair in frustration, sulkily closing her hand over her fist as she stared into the fire. Betsy raised an eyebrow before returning to her sewing. After a time, she spoke. "You know, you could do worse than being Sir Guy's wife."

Deirdre raised her head slightly to stare incredulously at the maid. " _You_  of all people should know why I can't do that!"

"Do you think you'd be the first woman to go to her marriage bed having already known a man?"

"That's not the point, Betsy and you know it! Allan and I are  _married_! I love Allan. I'll not marry Guy! I'd sooner jump out of that window!"

* * *

 In the darkness of the hallway, the lone guard that Guy had placed there crumpled into a heap. A dark form put his sword down and pushed on the wall, opening the door before stepping through over the unconscious form of the guard.

* * *

 Deirdre's eyes opened wide in shock as a cloaked man stepped into her room. Betsy put a hand to her chest in alarm, but Deirdre waved her hand, shushing the maid. The figure raised a finger to his lips, then beckoned Deirdre to him. Deirdre looked at those lips, at the twinkling blue eyes peeking below the hood, and smiled. She held up a finger to him to bid him to wait just a moment, grabbed a couple of things, hugged Betsy, and turned back to leave.

"Milady," Betsy's urgent whisper stopped Deirdre in her tracks. "What'll I say to the guards? They'll want to know where you went and why I didn't try to stop you."

"You're right." Deirdre reached for some strips of cloth and looked with raised eyebrows at Betsy. The older maid sighed and put her hands on the arms of the chair so that Deirdre could more easily bind her. Before Deirdre had a chance to gag her, Betsy whispered, "You be careful." Betsy looked to the enshrouded man, relatively sure she knew who he was. "And  _you_  take care of her." The man nodded his assent as Deirdre affixed the gag.

"I'm sorry Betsy. At least you won't get into trouble this way." Deirdre kissed the maid's cheek and turned to escape out the door with her rescuer.

* * *

 In the hallway, the dark-clad man pushed Deirdre up against the wall, kissing her deeply. Deirdre wrapped her arms around Allan's neck and returned his kiss. The two melted into one another for a moment, savoring each other after their long, enforced abstinence. When finally they broke apart, Allan took Deirdre's arm to help her over the inert form of the guard on the floor. He knelt carefully to bind and gag the guard and pick up a bundle from the floor, then he guided Deirdre back toward the store room. He urged her to put on the uniform he had removed from the guard before he carefully checked the room beyond the door. He turned to Deirdre, handing her the small bundle in which he had carefully wrapped some of Marian's small, inconspicuous knives. "Make your way to the west gate. I've told them that one of Sir Guy's guards is leaving early for Locksley to prepare for the Lord and Lady's return."

The way he said it had her asking, "You're coming with me, aren't you?"

Allan looked to the floor before raising his eyes to look into hers. "I can't yet, Deirdre."

"What?!"

"Shhhh!" Allan whispered nervously, glancing furtively toward the door. "I can't come with you just yet. If they suspect me, we're both in trouble."

"What if they already suspect you? I think I threw Guy off your trail, but what if I didn't? Allan, you have to come with me. Please." Deirdre had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Allan was not to be swayed though. "Look, I'm sure Giz may suspect a little, but he won't come after me unless 'e's sure. Besides, I can do us more good on the inside. I'll stay here and learn what I can. As soon as I hear that you're free, I'll come for you, I swear! For now, you've got to go. Don't go to Dun Aisling. Go to the cave—you remember the one." Deirdre nodded, swallowing miserably. "If you are ever in trouble, find Robin 'ood."

"Robin Hood? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. 'e may hate me, but he'll 'elp you. I've brought a few things to the cave to keep you for now." Allan rubbed her arms, leaning down to kiss her one last time, then nuzzled her neck, savoring the scent of her skin, its silky warmth beneath his lips.

Deirdre pulled away from Allan, wiping the tears from her eyes and straightening her shoulders before turning to leave.

* * *

  **A/N: I hope you're enjoying so far. Should you find the time to review, even if it's not all glowing praise, I would be grateful.**


	35. Return to the Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre has escaped, but will Allan?

Chapter Thirty-five: Return to the Cave 

It had been so easy to slip out the gate—thanks to Allan and his cover story, she'd even had a horse ready for her at the stables. Riding into Sherwood, she'd made sure she wasn't being followed before turning the horse's head toward the cave where she and Allan had met so many times last spring.

The horse was not her beloved Alemah, but that couldn't be helped. A guard riding out on Deirdre's favorite horse would have aroused too much suspicion. She made her way to the cave and found it as Allan had described it, well stocked with food and blankets and dry firewood. She brought the horse to the back and hobbled him, then took complete stock to see what, if anything, she would need. Finding nothing amiss, she made herself a small fire, then sat before the warmth and let her head fall to her knees. Within seconds, she was sobbing.

* * *

At the castle, Guy knocked on Deirdre's door. He heard no answer and thought that Deirdre was just being contrary. He knocked again, calling her name, but still received no answer. "Deirdre, please open the door." No answer. "Deirdre, open the door. The priest waits for us. You will become my wife this morning. You cannot fight it." Still no answer. Guy looked at the guards in consternation; they shrugged, looking at him wide-eyed. "Has anyone been in or out of this room since I brought the Lady Deirdre here yesterday?"

The taller of the two guards stammered, sensing the danger in his master's voice, "N-no Sir Guy. N-no one's been in or out, I swear."

Guy growled low in his throat before wrenching open the door; if Deirdre was changing, it wouldn't matter as she would be his shortly anyway. The sight which greeted his eyes had his stomach clenching in anger and loss—the maid, Betsy, tied and gagged in a chair by the fireplace, her eyes wide in fright. The rest of the room was empty. Guy strode past the bound maid to the back wall and opened the secret door, expelling a breath in anger as he saw the equally bound and gagged guard in the hallway. He reached for the cowering guard to un-gag him.

"What happened?!"

"I don't know, Milord. I was standing here, guarding the door like you said to, and then someone must've hit me. Everything went dark. I'm sorry, Milord Gisbourne."

Guy punched the guard in pent-up fury before stalking from the room, yelling for Allan.

* * *

Allan heard Gisbourne screaming his name and flinched, half-wishing he had gone with Deirdre after all. He steeled himself for the confrontation to come, knowing it would be ugly even if Guy  _did_  buy that Allan had had nothing to do with Deirdre's disappearance.

Guy practically ran down the stairs and out the door to the courtyard, still yelling for Allan; as he passed the sheriff, Vasey couldn't resist a dig as his second-in-command.

"Something wrong, Gisbourne?"

Guy turned with a snarl, barely remembering himself in time. "Nothing I can't handle Milord." He turned back to the door as Allan walked in.

"What's goin' on?"

"Outside." Guy's command brooked no refusal.

"Yeah, yeah, all right." Allan knew it was best to be obsequious when Guy was in this sort of mood. He followed Guy out to the courtyard and over to the stables. Once inside, Guy looked for and found Alemah. At the mare's stall, he turned on Allan.

"I went this morning to Lady Deirdre's room to bring her for the ceremony. She was not there. What do you know of this?" Guy's voice was measured, steady, deadly.

"What do you mean, Guy? Her 'orse is 'ere. Maybe she went to the priest. You know, for confession or somethin'."

"Her maid, and the guard I placed…at her door… were both found bound and gagged. She may need confession, but that's not where she is. She's run from me." Guy's anger was edged by pain; Allan almost felt sorry for him—almost.

"She's probly hidin' out somewhere in town. Weddin' day jitters. I admit, it's a little extreme to tie up your maid and all, but…"

"It's not jitters Allan. She's not hiding out in town. She's run away, and if I find out who helped her…" Guy's feral growl left no doubt as to the fate of any accomplices.

Allan swallowed nervously, looking at Guy in wide-eyed innocence. "Look, Guy, I'll tell you what. I'll look around town for you. You just relax. We'll find 'er."

Guy strode off, visibly seething. "See that you do," he threw over his shoulder as he went to question the maid and the guard further.

Allan heaved a sigh of relief as Guy left. He would set up a search party to look for Lady Deirdre. They would never find her, but at least it would help her trail in Sherwood to go cold.

* * *

All that day, Allan sent guards around Nottingham town, to Locksley, and the surrounding towns; he even sent some on the four day journey to Dun Aisling to look for Lady Deirdre. Of course, they came up empty-handed, but it wasted time and that was an important part of the plan. If he made it look like he was innocent, then perhaps Guy would buy that he was; the most important part of a con was appearances, playing the part. If you played the part well enough, the mark bought it and you were home free; if not, you were caught and in this case, dead.

* * *

By nightfall, Guy was frantic. He was angry that Deirdre had escaped, angry that he had been made to look a fool again, angry that they couldn't find her so that he could punish her. To make matters worse, every time he passed near the sheriff, Vasey's sardonic looks and sarcastic comments sent Guy's nerves further over the edge. If he didn't find Deirdre soon and bring her to heel, he'd never hear the end of it.

His interrogations of the maid and the guard had brought him no results—the maid had insisted that her lady had tied her up; the guard had maintained that she had had help from someone on the outside. Deirdre must have known the person who had knocked out the guard, but who could it be? He had thought at first that it was Allan, but the man was looking high and low for Deirdre. He thought that maybe it was Martin, sneaking back into town to rescue his lady; in fact, the more Guy thought of it, the more Martin became his main suspect. They would find out more when the guards that Allan had sent to Dun Aisling returned, but that would not be for over a week.

Guy decided to ride to Locksley, to wait for word there—at least at his manor, he wouldn't have to endure the sheriff's snide remarks.


	36. Robin Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre fears Allan may be in danger and calls on the outlaw for help. Finally, some Robin Hood in your Robin Hood fan fiction! 　

Chapter Thirty-six: Robin Hood

As the days passed with still no word from Allan, Deirdre's unease grew. By the end of a week, she was nearly frantic with worry. Allan's words echoed in her head,  _"If you're ever in trouble, find Robin 'ood."_ She had wanted to avoid that eventuality, still upset with the outlaw for his treatment of Allan and Allan's hurt feelings over it, but she needed to find out what was happening at the castle and it wasn't like she could just go strolling back through the doors. Even if they hadn't figured out her disguise and she made it back in, it was too risky and if Allan was okay, he wouldn't thank her for putting herself in harm's way again. He had told her where to go if she needed to find Robin; of course, he had also told her to wait and he would eventually show up, but she had never been very good at inaction. Deirdre stood in the middle of the little sun-dappled glen, the breeze warm on her face, and began to yell at the top of her lungs. If the sheriff and his men showed up, she'd run—there was plenty of cover nearby to get lost in.

"Robin Hood! Robin Hood! Robin Hood!" She called over and over for what felt like hours. Her lungs burned, her throat ached, when finally a man stepped from the forest. He was younger than she would've thought, not overly tall, not too skinny or too fat—in all, she thought him quite average, although she imagined if he were cleaned up, many a young maiden would find him attractive.

" _You_  are Robin Hood?" she asked, her voice cracking. She half-expected that he was either one of the outlaw's men or just some random outlaw not even associated with Robin Hood.

The young man inclined his head and spoke, his voice like velvet. "I am."

Deirdre was on edge and was feeling petty and mean. Despite her need for his help, she couldn't help putting in a little dig against the man who had turned his back on her Allan.

"I would've thought you'd be … " she waved her hand in his general direction, "more."

More men and a woman had come out of the forest to join their leader; a man with a bandana on his head and a multi-colored shirt looked out of sorts. Robin merely smiled, laughter in his voice.

"How so?"

"I don't know. Bigger. Better looking. More personality.  _Something_."

Robin Hood didn't get angry, as Deirdre had half-hoped he would; instead, his grin widened and he began to laugh. The man with the multi-colored shirt stepped up to his master's defense, making Robin Hood laugh all the harder.

"I'll have you know, my master  _is_  more. He is smarter and braver and stronger and better with a bow and handsomer and he has a fine personality and and and…" the man spluttered to a stop as Robin Hood clapped him on the back.

"Much, I didn't know how much you cared!" Turning back to Deirdre, he asked, "What is your name?"

"Deirdre." She chose to leave out her family name.

"You obviously need my help," Robin replied, a gleam in his eyes. "What little can I do for you?" he joked.

Deirdre hesitated, still not wanting his help, then squared her shoulders proudly, looking into Robin's eyes.

"I fear my husband may be in trouble. At the castle. I need to find out if he is or not, and if he is, I need you to get him out."

"So, business as usual," the outlaw grinned to the others.

A dark-haired, handsome young man spoke up. "It'll be more difficult with Allan having given away our secrets to getting in and out of the castle."

Deidre's nose pinched in anger at the boy's words, but no one seemed to notice.

Robin seemed lost in thought for a moment before looking back at Deirdre. "Don't worry, we'll get in. We'll find him. What does he look like?"

"You know him."

Robin raised an eye at the statement and the anger edging Deirdre's voice.

"It's Allan. Allan A’Dale."

The gang stood in shocked silence for a moment, before explosions of "Traitor!" and "Robin, there's no way!" and "Allan A’Dale's your  _husband_!" could be heard. One small feminine voice cried, "Robin, we must help him!"

Robin's face hardened. "I'm sorry, we can't help you. Allan A’Dale is a traitor. He made his decision, now he must face the consequences. If you were foolish enough to marry him, you have my condolences."

All of Deirdre's pent-up anxiety released and she leapt at Robin Hood, landing quite a few hard punches and driving Robin to the ground, before Robin and his gang reacted, pushing and pulling her off of him. It took all of the others to hold her back and even then, she leapt against their restraint; eventually she calmed and the gang released their grip on her. Robin lay on the ground, rubbing his chin, glaring at her.

"You self-important, arrogant, selfish, egotistical, overbearing, superior…aargh! Who needs you anyway? I'll do it myself." Deirdre turned to go.

Robin spoke to her back. "Why should we help you anyway? We don't help liars and if Allan has earned the hangman's noose around his traitorous neck, then it's no great loss!"

Deirdre turned back and was on Robin, beating at him again with her fists and her feet, even trying to bite him; the gang reacted quickly to pull her off again. She cried out in frustration, then collapsed in tears, the only thing holding her up was the hands of the gang. Gently, the men let her down and stood by looking uncomfortable as Deirdre sobbed as though the world were ending.

Djaq knelt beside Deirdre, holding her and trying to comfort her, throwing Robin a look of anger. It was a long while before Deirdre's sobs slowed and then ceased, the image of Allan on the hangman's platform frightening the life out of her. She wiped the tears quickly from her face and stood, turning to go, deciding that any more time spent with Robin was just a waste. Djaq's hand on her arm stopped her.

"You are truly married to Allan A’Dale?"

Deirdre swallowed and nodded her head miserably. "Yes. Did you know, Robin, how badly you've hurt him by rejecting him?"

Robin replied heatedly, " _He_  rejected  _us_  when he turned traitor."

"Did you ever ask him why he would do such a thing?" The confused look on Robin's face said that he had not. "Did you know that Guy had captured him? Held him in prison? Tortured him?"

She looked to each of the outlaws in turn as she asked the questions. The shock on their faces confirmed that they had had no idea  _why_  Allan had sold secrets to Guy, only that he had. Robin's face had schooled itself back to a carefully impassive mask—he vaguely remembered words Allan had spoken to him at the Trip Inn, words that, in his anger with Allan, he had dismissed at the time.

"Allan refused to tell Guy anything of importance. Guy gave him a choice—live, and get paid to give Guy little bits of information, or die, right there and then. Guy promised Allan that no one would get hurt—just less people would be robbed. Should he have chosen death? I suppose you're all so perfect you would have, but I cannot make that claim. Now if you'll please just let me go. He was wrong about you. He said that despite your feelings for him, you'd help me. He feels horrible about what he's done, mainly because he lost your friendship. He's a better man than any of you will ever be. He's forgiven your feelings for him, but it's obvious you all still hate him."

Djaq's doe eyes were brimming with as-yet unshed tears, her voice trembled with emotion. "We do not hate him. We are angry with him. Disappointed in him. Allan A’Dale is a good man who made a bad choice."

"If you did not hate him, you would not leave him to die," Deidre responded quietly, her eyes on the ground.

Robin spoke, his voice more a question than a challenge this time; he had learned that Deirdre had a temper. "How could you be married to Allan? I never heard any banns read. No one ever mentioned it in Nottingham." Suddenly, a thought came to him. Marian had mentioned a Lady Deirdre who had fancied Allan. He wondered if she could be the same lady. If she was, Allan had won himself a rich prize in a wife; Marian had also mentioned that Lady Deirdre was the daughter of Fàelàn O'Niall, whose name was known to nearly everyone of noble blood.

As though to confirm his thoughts, Deirdre responded, "We had no banns read. No witnesses. We could not."

Robin added carefully, "Because you are nobility."

Deirdre raised her chin high. "Yes."

Much threw up his hands in disgust; he and Allan had never really gotten along and he still couldn't understand Allan's decision to turn traitor. "So Allan gets himself in trouble for marrying some noble's daughter and we're supposed to drop everything to save him from her father's wrath? Great. That's just great."

Deirdre threw him a quelling look and he blanched, but stopped sputtering. "My father has no problem with the marriage. It's Sir Guy who would be a problem if he knew."

"What does Gisbourne have to do with this?" asked Robin, suddenly alert, before a considering look came over his features. "Of course, so your father  _is_  Fàelàn O'Niall?"

Deirdre looked at him in surprise, but Robin had no intention of telling her where he got his information.

At the looks of confusion on the gang's face however, Robin added, "O'Niall's the most powerful man, outside of royalty, in this country. Some say he is even more powerful than most royalty." He turned to Deirdre, "Guy would want to ally himself with that power."

Deirdre looked pointedly at Robin. "There are two problems: I do not love Sir Guy and I am already married to the man I love." She looked pointedly at the gang, daring them to say another word against Allan.

"I take it Sir Guy does not know of your marriage?"

"If he does, then we are too late. Allan smuggled me out of Nottingham a week ago, the night before I was to become Sir Guy's wife. He said that he would contact me as soon as he could, but I have heard nothing from him since. I'm afraid that either Guy or the sheriff have found out about his helping me escape; if they did, he is in mortal danger. So, if you are going to help me, we must go now; if not, then let me go. I'll rescue him myself if need be."

Robin sighed and shook his head, unable to believe what he was about to do.

* * *

 

Allan was walking along the lower corridor when he was suddenly grabbed and pulled down the stairs into the kitchen.  _Not again!_  he thought, as his eyes met those of a hooded Robin. Robin raised a finger to his lips and Little John squeezed Allan tighter, warningly. Allan heard a familiar voice and his heart did a somersault in his chest.  _What on Earth was she doing 'ere?_

"For Heaven's sake, let him go, you big oaf!" Deirdre's command, though whispered, was still angry. Little John hesitated, looking to Robin for confirmation, before letting Allan go.

Allan immediately grabbed Deirdre and put himself between her and the outlaws, eyeing his old friends warily. "What are you lot doin' 'ere?" he asked defiantly, then was thrown off guard by Deirdre hugging him from behind. She came around to face him, looking him over like a mother who looks for bruises on a child after an accident. Deirdre's eyes came back to meet Allan's before she gave a relieved little cry and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. Allan stood shocked for a moment before kissing her back, then nearly fell over as she broke off the kiss and pulled back a bit; he opened his eyes to see the gang grinning in amusement.

"You're all right. You're all right," Deirdre repeated in wonder, eyes roaming his face restlessly.

"Yeah, I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?" Deirdre looked at him askance and he grinned mischievously at her. "Yeah, well, aside from the fact that the sheriff suspects something and if Guy ever finds out for sure, he'll 'ave me killed…"

Deirdre's look hardened. "Don't you dare joke about dying. If anything ever happened to you … " she broke off, head dropping, eyes squeezed shut in pain at the mere idea.

Allan reached out to raise her chin. "Look at me, Deirdre." She refused to open her eyes and he repeated the command. Deirdre looked into his eyes, her own wet with tears. "I'm all right. But I won't be if Guy finds you and forces you to marry 'im." Allan swallowed and looked at his former leader. "Robin, I know I done you wrong. I know you can't forgive me, but I'm beggin' you—get her out of 'ere. Keep her safe until I can come for her. Please."

Robin recognized the feeling in Allan's voice and replied solemnly, "We will."

Allan gave a last lingering kiss to Deirdre before Robin took her by the arm and led her off. After a few steps, Robin paused and turned back to his former friend. "Are you sure you won't come with us?"

Robin's words caught Allan by surprise. "Thanks Robin, but I can't. I 'ave to wait 'ere to catch first word on the marriage contract. It'd be like Guy to trick us into bringin' Deirdre out of hidin' then kill the messenger and marry 'er anyway, claimin' he never got the message. I'll wait, then steal the letter and meet you after that."

Robin nodded. The plan made sense. It was dangerous, but Allan's feelings for Deirdre were obvious. He looked at Allan, so many emotions playing across his face where the older man's face was staunchly without outward emotion.  _That was what made him such a good front-man—and had made him such a good traitor,_ Robin thought,  _that ability to mask his real feelings._ There were so many things Robin wanted to say, but pride always got in his way. "Be careful Allan," was all he said before turning and leading Allan's wife and the gang out of the kitchen and back to Sherwood.

 


	37. Sherwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre is back with the gang in Sherwood, trying not to worry about Allan and failing miserably.

 

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Sherwood

Allan watched the corridor until he could no longer see the gleam of Deirdre's golden hair, and then stood transfixed for a bit longer still. He turned with a sigh and left the kitchen to continue his morning patrol of the castle. Seeing Deirdre had set him on edge—all he really wanted was to settle down with her somewhere and not worry about who would see her with him if he wanted to kiss her. He missed her terribly, an emotion that took him by surprise, but then lately he'd been finding out that he cared about people a lot more than he had thought he did.

Robin had also stirred his emotions up. When Robin had first kicked him out of the gang, Allan had been angry, his feelings hurt. He had wondered why Robin could have forgiven Roy, who he had known for less time, but not him, not his pal Allan.

Robin's whole attitude seemed to have changed this time; he had surprised Allan by asking if he wanted to come back with them. He had wanted to say he would, especially when he had looked at Deirdre, but he knew he had to stay, had to steal the letter once it arrived from the prince. He didn't know what Guy would do with the letter, but he was relatively sure that it would disappear somehow, and Allan was determined that it would disappear with him rather than into a fire somewhere.

* * *

Deirdre kept looking wistfully back over her shoulder as Robin herded her along the corridors. She had a horrible feeling that leaving Allan behind was a mistake. At one point, she stopped and turned around, prepared to go back and get her husband no matter what. Robin caught hold of her arm, and she turned to glare disdainfully at the hand that held her before looking at Robin's face. She looked at the man who had betrayed her husband, who had turned him out to make his own way, and wanted to hate him, but she saw compassion in his eyes, and empathy. She swallowed and followed him out of the castle back to Sherwood where she spent the night tossing and turning in her bedroll.

* * *

_Allan was in chains in the dungeon. He was drenched in sweat, his back raw from the flogging, blood mingling with the sweat there. His left eye was swollen, cuts criss-crossed his face, dripping blood onto the floor. His chest and arms were bruised, his wrists raw from the chain that kept him in place, hanging from the ceiling. He took the beatings stoically, but the whip was another matter; he cried out in pain every time the cruel lashes met his already taxed flesh. Leg and arm muscles screamed in denial from the strain of holding the weight of his body just off the floor._ As the lash fell on his back again, Deirdre awoke screaming and was only helped back to sleep by a draught from Djaq.

* * *

Guy stalked the corridors of Nottingham castle. He had stayed at Locksley for a week and still no word of Deirdre. He had come back to the castle to interrogate everyone she knew again, but it was as if she had simply disappeared. To make matters worse, every time he saw the sheriff, Vasey made some rude comment or kissy noises, and every time he saw Allan, he had the feeling his lieutenant was hiding something. He was supposed to have been comfortably married by now, son-in-law to one of the most powerful men in England; instead he was hunting down that same man's daughter while his second-in-command kept secrets from him and his own master taunted him. He entered the Great Hall and turned immediately to try to leave, but not in time.

"Ah, Gisbourne. There you are. I was just thinking about you." Vasey sat in a high-backed chair at the far end of the table, his hands crossed over his belly, pushing his lunch from his teeth with his tongue as a serving girl removed his plates.

"Chicken?" he asked, gesturing magnanimously toward the empty plates.

Guy grimaced at the sheriff's double entendre and slumped into a chair. He stared moodily at the table in front of him as the serving girl brought out a plate for him.

Vasey spoke as Guy played absently with his food. "You know, I was thinking, we could make an annual celebration of it," he leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "'Guy's wedding. Pass the word. Nobody show up, not even the bride.'"

Guy swallowed what he had been chewing and threw the rest of the meat to his plate as he launched himself out of the chair and away from the table.

"Come now, where are you going, Guy? You haven't finished your food."

Guy turned back angrily, "I will  _not_  be mocked!"

Vasey shoved his own chair back as he faced Guy. "You've  _already_  been mocked! You were mocked by Marian last year when she left you at the altar. You were mocked last week when your latest choice of a bride ran away before the wedding. You are mocked every time you ask Allan to search for her. Do you  _really_  think that he is ever going to find her? A clue," the sheriff pursed his lips and shook his head. " _Grow up_ , Gisbourne! There's something going on between Allan and Deirdre, make no mistake. If you want to find her, you'll have to use him as bait."

Guy was still glaring menacingly at the sheriff. He turned his head away, closing his eyes before replying. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's been a while since your boy saw the wrong side of a prison cell. If you want to find your bride, don't send Allan. If you want to find your bride, put her sweetheart in a cell, maybe even play with him a bit. Bring Letum here. He's been a bit bored lately. Why don't we give our torturer something to do?" The Sheriff of Nottingham clapped his hands together and rubbed them, smiling gleefully.

Gisbourne paled at the mention of the man's name, although he had used him in the past without compunction. Letum was a professional and enjoyed causing pain. If Allan was hiding something, he would talk.

"Consider it a birthday present—it could even be the highlight of the party. You won't have to get me anything else." Vasey smiled evilly and a part of Guy shuddered. He wanted the truth, but Allan had become a friend over the last months and Guy was loath to hand him over to the torturer. Of course, if it turned out Allan  _was_  having an affair with Deirdre, Guy would torture him himself, friend or no.

* * *

In Sherwood, Deirdre was making the outlaws, particularly Much, antsy. She prowled the camp area like a caged animal, stopping now and again to stare wide-eyed and alert into the forest before her shoulders would slump and she would resume her pacing.

"Why must she  _do_  that?" Much asked of no one in particular as Deirdre came to another abrupt halt, looking deep into the forest.

Robin sat whittling an arrow, grinning at Much's discomfort. "She's worried, Much. What do you expect? Her husband's playin' a dangerous game with Gisbourne and the sheriff." Robin’s grin disappeared.

"Her  _husband_  chose that path when he became a traitor." Much hadn't meant to speak so loudly, he never did. He loved Robin so much that he hated Allan for what he had done. He would have given his life for Robin before turning on him; however, he hadn't thought that his resolve would be tested in camp and by a woman. Quicker than a wink and before any of the outlaws saw the danger, Deirdre was upon Much, a jeweled dagger pressed to his throat. Robin jumped up, an arrow notched to his bow and pointing at Deirdre in a heartbeat.

"Deirdre!" Robin's voice held command. Unable to help herself, Deirdre let her gaze slide over to look at the gang's leader. Her eyes were wide and wild, gone the light blue of the ocean in winter, her nose was pinched and her mouth a grim line. Robin looked into those eyes of hers and knew that Deirdre was even more on edge than any of them had thought.

"Deirdre," Robin's voice softened, cajoling now, "please put down the knife. I'm sure that Much is just feeling your nerves. I'm sure that if you move the knife so that he can speak, Much would be happy to apologize for slighting Allan."

Much swallowed, the knife's edge making a red mark on his throat; he had complete faith in his master, but at the same time, he hadn't felt this close to death since the day they had found out that Allan was a traitor—the day Henry of Lewes had held him in a similar position. He felt the knife drop away from his neck, and then Deirdre collapsed in a heap, head in her hands as she sobbed. Djaq was by her side in an instant, rubbing small circles on her back and speaking softly to her. Robin put down the bow and sighed in relief as Much moved away, holding his neck proprietarily; Will and Little John shared an uncomfortable sidelong look.

Robin went over and placed a hand on the back of Deirdre's head—she refused to look at him, sitting with her knees drawn up, arms around them, and head resting between her knees and her torso. Her tears had stopped, but she rocked back and forth, unable to be still.

"Deirdre, I'm sure Allan'll be all right—he's nothing if not resourceful. I'll send Will into town in the morning and every day until Allan can come with him."

Robin looked helplessly at Djaq—he was used to being able to give families money or food to make it all better, but the one thing that Deirdre needed, he couldn't give to her, and it frustrated him to not be able to help. Djaq shrugged and gave Robin a small smile of sympathy as she continued to rub Deirdre's back. Robin sighed and walked over to the other men; after a moment, Much disengaged himself from the group and walked over to the women.

"I'm… sorry. For what I said. About Allan. No matter how I feel about him, he's your husband and I should not have said those things about him." Much looked extremely uncomfortable as Deirdre raised her head to look at him, her eyes steady but threatening to burst forth with more tears at any moment.

"You're right. None of you knows what he went through. Did you know he has nightmares? He misses all of you terribly. And now…" Deirdre swallowed, unable to finish the thought out loud. "I'll just feel better when he's back with me. Once this whole mess is straightened out. Why couldn't I just be poor, so Guy would leave me be?"

The men shuffled about, discomfited by Deirdre's outburst. Little John was the first to move.

"Come on, lass." He reached for her arm and she was so despondent she let herself be pulled to her feet. Little John led her off a little way to a clearing, grabbing another staff that was leaning against a tree as he went. Once they reached the clearing, he turned and tossed the staff to her; she caught it easily, years of practice with the sword making the catch look easy.

"Have you ever used a staff?"

Deirdre shook her head, eyes on the ground, shoulders slumped. Little John reached out with the staff and rapped her knuckles. Crying out, Deirdre raised her head sharply, glaring at Little John. The large man looked at her innocently; nearby, Much paled, having already seen the bad side of the Irishwoman's temper. Deirdre turned away to go back to her bedroll, but was stopped as Little John reached out to whack her with the staff again, this time on her bottom. She squared her shoulders and continued on, not wanting to get into a fight with the larger man—they usually didn't take it too well when she beat them.

Little John's words were his next weapon. "You're a coward, just like he is."

Deirdre stopped as though she'd run into a wall; the shaking began in her hands and soon engulfed her whole body. Her neck, ears, and face became red with rage and her eyes iced over as she turned to face the giant who had dared to denounce both her husband's and her good names in one breath.

Much cried out, "Run, Little John! Run!" then took his own advice, and quickly found his sword. Robin, Will and Djaq watched in fascination as Deirdre stalked Little John—they would have thought she would attack quickly, overcome by her rage, but instead her moves were controlled, deadly. She walked around Little John in a circle, swinging the staff, testing the weight, finding the center of balance; she feinted a couple of times, learning how to use it on her own.

Little John watched warily, knowing he had stirred a hornet's nest, yet unable to keep from being impressed by the way she moved with the weapon. Even though she had never used a staff before, it was obvious to him that she had been schooled well with other weapons, probably a sword. He smiled in satisfaction as she finally came at him, staff raised like a sword. He caught her a blow to her ribs as he twirled out of her way, easily avoiding her weapon.

Time passed in the same pattern—her attacking, him defending, him attacking, her defending; blows struck and were blocked as Little John taught Deirdre the use of the staff and helped her to work off some of her anxiety at the same time. The gang watched as Deirdre's temper faded from the physical activity; finally, they relaxed enough to put down the weapons they had been clutching.

Night began to fall and Deirdre finally began to flag as Little John called a halt to the lesson. Much had left hours earlier to start the dinner which the gang, including Deirdre, sat down to eat. For the first time in days, Deirdre was not only hungry, but ravenous, and tore into her meal with gusto. That night she slept deeply until the nightmares began again in the small hours.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose the name "Letum" as it means "death" or "ruin" in Latin. I thought it a fitting name for a torturer. 


	38. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy is desperate to find Deirdre, but how far will he go?

Chapter Thirty-eight: Torture

Allan was on his way across the courtyard, heading toward the castle to get his supper. The evening breeze teased the hair on the back of his neck, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Andrew, one of the older guards, smiled and nodded his head as he was walking away from the castle. Allan stopped to chat.

“How’s your lovely lady?” Andrew asked quietly, leaning in a bit. Deirdre had helped Andrew’s family when Andrew’s wife had taken ill just after the new year.

Allan nodded and gave Andrew a small smile, getting ready to prevaricate when Guy’s voice cut through the failing light.

“Allan.” Guy gestured, swinging his upper arm toward himself as he stood at the top of the stairs that led into the keep.

Allan smiled and rolled his eyes. “Gotta go. Boss’s callin’.” He clapped Andrew on the shoulder. The older guard nodded back and turned to continue on his way. Allan glanced up at the stairs. Another breeze picked up and he shivered as he walked the rest of the way to the castle. He jogged lightly up the stairs to where Guy waited, arms crossed.

“Whatcha need, Boss?”

The grin faded from his face as two guards who had been standing duty at the door moved in and grabbed Allan’s arms.

“Guy?” Allan struggled as a third man moved in to take his sword belt and a fourth began to clap chains on him. His struggles increased with his panic, until Gisbourne stepped up and put a knife to his throat.

“I’m sorry, Allan. But I have to be sure you’re being honest with me about Deirdre.” Guy’s voice was low and menacing, but he glanced away and closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing convulsively.

“Guy, I swear. I don’t know where she went.” That was mostly true. If she was with the outlaws now, there was no telling where they might have moved camp to; somewhere in Sherwood was likely as close as he could get to pinpointing her location without help.

The guards finished tightening the chains just as the last light faded from the sky. Guy turned back to look at Allan, disappointment in his eyes as he lowered the knife. “I’m sorry, Allan, but I just don’t believe you. Not yet. If Letum finds you innocent, I will owe you an apology, but until then ….” Guy gestured sharply with his chin toward the dungeons and the guards pushed and dragged Allan into the dark depths as he continually proclaimed his innocence. 

* * *

The next morning, Robin woke Deirdre up early, bow and quiver in hand. The sun slanted between the trees, sparkling on the leaves overhead and framing him, making him a dark shadow as she shielded her eyes, blinking away sleep.

"C'mon, bow lessons." Robin walked away to a clearing, Deirdre running to catch up. He helped her tie strips of leather to her fingers "until you get calluses," he said, then started by showing her how to hold the bow—left arm stretched out, right holding the string. He made her pull and release the bow over and over without an arrow before he showed her how to nock the arrow properly on the string, how to balance the arrow's tip with her left hand, how to sight along the body of the arrow.

The first few times, the arrow fell rather than flew, but after numerous tries, Deirdre was able to send the arrow short distances. She was tiring, but she refused to give up. Robin watched her in admiration as she faltered, then pulled herself straight, gritting her teeth against the pain in her shoulders, arms, hands, and fingers. She let fly the arrow and this time it darted nearly as far as Robin's own, stuck in a tree one hundred yards away; it had been an easy shot for him, but he hadn't wanted to frustrate her. She missed the tree, but barely, and reached down immediately for another arrow, moving without thought. She had a fluid grace to her movements that belied her inner turmoil. Robin watched her, making small corrections to her posture or her aim as she released arrow after arrow.

Hours passed and finally Robin called a halt to break for some food and rest. They had finished eating lunch and were back at the archery lessons when Will arrived back at camp, looking grim.

* * *

Guy stood before Allan, arms crossed. He glared at his former spy, his right hand man, dangling from the ceiling, as the sheriff's accusations buzzed around in his head. Allan had become a friend and a confidant, and Guy was almost afraid to find out the truth, if the truth was what the sheriff believed. Allan was looking at him, fear stamped on his face.

"Guy, please. I told you. I don’t know where she is."

Guy looked down, glancing away before meeting Allan's eyes. "But you know something."

Allan's brows drew down. "Guy, I swear I dunno anythin’. I been lookin' everywhere for you, ain't I?"

Guy remained stoic. "Did you do something with her?"

"What d'you mean?" Allan paused, then a thought came that frightened the life out of him. "Jazus, Guy—you don't think I killed 'er or somethin'?"

Guy held Allan's gaze. "I don't know what to think, Allan. All I know is that my bride is missing and the sheriff thinks you're involved."

"The sheriff? So you believe me then, right Guy?" Allan clung to the hope that if Gisbourne believed him, he wasn't really in trouble, that they were only trying to scare the truth out of him. His best bet was to stay the course.

Guy looked at his friend, at the anxiety on Allan's face, carefully keeping his own features devoid of emotion. "The sheriff has ordered you tortured until you talk. Tell us where she is and I can release you now, Allan."

Allan's face paled even further at the mention of the word, "torture" and his voice took on more desperation.

"Look, I swear to you, I dunno where she is. You gotta believe me Guy. Please. Don't do this to me again. I'll double the patrols. We'll find 'er for you. Guy. Guy!" Allan cried.

Guy sighed and closed his eyes before turning to leave, nodding to Letum, who had been standing in the corner waiting patiently. The sound of Allan's pleading chased him as he escaped the dank jail, reminding him of another man he had tortured needlessly on the sheriff's say-so. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as Allan's continued begging floated up and chased him out to the courtyard. He nearly ran for the stable; a ride on D'Jinn would clear his mind.

* * *

Deirdre let go of the arrow she had been nocking so quickly that it nearly struck Much, who ducked and cried out. She ran for Will, the look on his face making her queasy. Robin spoke first; Deirdre was afraid to ask, afraid to know.

"Will?"

Will's expressive eyes were killing Deirdre.

"Please God, just don't say he's dead."

"He's alive."

Deirdre nearly collapsed in relief, looking up at Will for the explanation of his sad expression.

"He's in the dungeons. Guy and the sheriff think he had something to do with your disappearance. He's being…" Will had a hard time saying it. He had been angry with Allan, had even wanted to hate him, but the thought of his friend being tortured was overwhelming to his gentle soul.

"He's being what, Will? What? Tell me!" Deirdre demanded impatiently, knowing that it was nothing good.

Will swallowed, gathered his courage. "He's being tortured. They say that Letum likes his job, so he takes his time."

Will paused, a spark of hope showing in his eyes. "Maybe we can get Allan out of there still."

Deirdre did collapse this time, her legs giving way as her mind tried to process this new information. The gang looked at one another in shock before directing their sympathetic gazes to Allan's wife. She seemed to gather herself, but was unable to control the angry shaking of her body; she growled, the words low in her throat. "Oh, we'll get Allan out, all right. And then we'll see how this Letum likes pain."

The gang looked nervously to Robin, who came to face Deirdre. " _We'll_  get him out.  _You_  are to stay here."

"There is no way on earth that I am going to stay here while you go out…"

Robin cut off her tirade. "You. Stay. Allan did this for you. He could have given you up. He could have never rescued you in the first place, but he did, and he would not want anything to happen to you. So, for Allan, you stay."

Deirdre seemed to give up, her shoulders slumped, head down, as she nodded agreement. She needed to know for sure that the gang would get Allan out of Nottingham though, no matter what, so she looked up at Robin pleadingly. "I know you were angry with him, Robin, but please rescue him. For me." She held both hands to her belly, looking at Robin meaningfully. "For us."

As Robin looked at her wide-eyed, she nodded in acknowledgement.

Robin sighed, "C'mon, gang, we've a family to reunite."

* * *

In the dungeon, Letum was sharpening his instruments. He had let some of the guards handle the beating of his latest victim. Most of the guards seemed to like and respect the man, but Letum had found one or two who had coveted the position of Gisbourne's second-in-command and were jealous of the ex-outlaw, jealous enough to want to cause harm.

Letum would handle the more delicate portions of the torture—beating was so … crass. He had already laid a few well-placed lashes on the man's back and had been satisfied when the lashes had brought out cries of pain where the beatings had elicited very little response. Letum smiled to himself as he polished a sharpened hook and watched it glint in the firelight; Allan A’Dale was strong, and would not break quickly.


	39. Avenging Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't really think Deirdre would wait quietly at camp while the gang went in to rescue Allan, did you?

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Avenging Angel

Deirdre still didn't trust the gang entirely. She had played the pregnancy card in the hopes of gaining more sympathy for Allan; not for one minute did she believe that they would sacrifice themselves to save him, but they would for a woman and her unborn child. Running quickly through the forest, she was at the cave in no time, gathering the things she would need to break in and to break Allan out, hopefully exacting some vengeance in the process. She prayed, for all their sakes, that Allan wasn't too badly hurt. She dressed quickly and was on her way to Nottingham in no time.

* * *

In the dungeon, Letum had Allan on the rack. He had decided it would be more entertaining to stretch the man first, a little at a time, while he kept the blades he had been polishing close to hand, within Allan's sight. As a master torturer, he knew that half of the process was fear, fear of the unknown that was to come, and so he was always careful to let the imaginations of his victims work against them. It wasn't the sight of their bones, their blood, or their entrails that gave him pleasure, but rather the sight of their fear; once they gave up or passed out, it wasn't fun anymore.

* * *

Guy was on his way to the sheriff's quarters when he was stopped in the hall by Marian. He sighed and rolled his eyes, stopping in mid-stride as she called out to him.

"Guy, how can you do this?" she whispered frantically. Sure, Allan had betrayed Robin, but even  _he_  didn't deserve to be tortured.

Guy chose to feign ignorance. "Marian, what are you talking about now?"

Marian leaned in close to avoid being overheard. "You know what I'm talking about. Allan. Why are you torturing him?"

Guy tilted his head, looking at her as an adult would at a wayward child. "The sheriff thinks that Allan had something to do with Deirdre's disappearance."

"The sheriff? So you don't?"

Leave it to Marian to pick up on that subtlety. "I don't know what to think, Marian. All I know is, Deirdre's disappeared and she and Allan seemed ... close."

"They were friends, Guy. Is that now a crime?"

"No, of course not. It's just ... something's not right."

"You're right. You torturing your friend is not right."

" _I_  am not ...!"

"It doesn't matter who's doing the actual torturing. If you let it go on, you may as well be doing it yourself. Speak to the sheriff, Guy. Get him to release Allan. Please. Before you blacken your soul any more with this injustice."

Gisbourne sighed, Marian's words might have been torn from his own soul. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Vasey, Sheriff of Nottingham, was in his quarters making kissey faces at some of his birds when Gisbourne walked in to make his daily report, Marian's words still ringing in his ears. Guy grimaced—he knew he was no saint himself, but he was never cruel for the sake of cruelty. He was harsh only when he had to be, to achieve certain goals. He was hoping that Allan's torture would soon be over—it was obvious Allan knew nothing of Deirdre's whereabouts, and Guy's conscience was haunting him. Marian berating him in the hallway hadn't helped.

"Ah, Gisbourne, there you are. What news, eh?"

"There is no news, Milord. Allan knows nothing of Deirdre's whereabouts."

"Are you certain of that Guy?"

"Yes, Milord. Allan has been beaten, flogged and is now on the rack. He would have broken by now if he knew anything."

"Really? Perhaps I should go question him myself. Letum is good at his job, but his results aren't usually very … speedy."

Guy did his best to keep his composure, but Vasey in this type of dangerous mood made him nervous. He wanted to get Allan out of the dungeon before the sheriff had him killed. "I don't think that's necessary, Milord. I think we should let Allan go. Deirdre obviously escaped with someone else's help."

"Hmmm, now who else could have helped her, eh Gisbourne? Was it her father? No, we've had word from Dun Aisling and he is there. Was it her captain of the guard? No, he's also at Dun Aisling. Who else, who else, who else?" the sheriff paced around his quarters, tapping his finger on his lips in mock thought.

Guy watched uneasily, "Milord, I don't think…"

"I know, Gisbourne, I know. That's how you end up in these situations. That's why I'm thinking  _for_ you." Vasey paced a bit more, well aware but uncaring that Guy was red with anger behind him.

"A-HA!" the sheriff's outburst nearly sent Guy out of his skin. "Marian."

"Milord?"

"Who else could it be but Marian? The girls were close. They must've talked. I'll bet Marian even told Deirdre about how she escaped from marrying you."

Guy looked away, still embarrassed over the loss of not one, but two brides; his embarrassment was tinged with anger at the women themselves and at the sheriff for picking at the wound. On the other hand, he did not want to see Marian replace Allan in the torture chamber—despite his disappointment, he did not wish to see her harmed.

"Marian would not … "

"Of course not. So why don't we go down and ask Allan again what he knows, shall we? Or maybe we need to call in Robin Hood—your friends seem fond of giving information to  _him_."

Guy flinched at the reminder of his friend Lambert, who had given the location of an important ledger to Robin rather than to Guy. He followed the sheriff out the door, praying that for once a friend was being true to him.

* * *

Letum was humming merrily to himself, alone in the torture chamber with his victim. Allan was stretched out on his back on the rack as Letum turned the crank by his head. The torturer had first laid Allan's back open with some very well-placed lashes, then had spread sharp pebbles on the rack before having Allan laid upon it; every time the crank turned, it pulled his raw skin over the edges of the rocks, opening the wounds further. Letum was considering hanging Allan back up and heating the stones to red-hot before putting him back on the rack. The fellow cried out, but either he did not know what the sheriff and Sir Guy wanted or he was extremely strong-willed.

* * *

Allan had never prayed so hard for death. The last torturer had been a novice compared to this man. Allan's back was on fire and every time the man turned the crank, it got worse. The wounds from the lashes were raw and being scraped by the rocks, sweat dripped into the open gashes as well, the salt stinging even more.

He knew he was in for a long time of it, that the pain would gradually increase until he finally died, and while he loved Deirdre more than life, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. He wanted to live for her, for the life he wanted to make with her, but a part of him wanted to goad the torturer into killing him to get it over with. He cried out yet again as the crank was turned, then slumped in relief as it suddenly went slack; his weight hit the stones and he yelped again, but found the ropes loose, his body able to turn. Allan sighed in relief at the lack of added pain.

* * *

Letum was turning the crank, watching the beads of sweat break out on A' Dale's face, a small satisfied smile playing upon his own features. He watched as the man's eyes closed against the pain, watched the tears that ran down his face, joining with the sweat and the blood. It was the last thing he saw—he never saw the dark shadow that detached itself from the deeper shadows near the wall, never saw the blade that suddenly appeared, creating another smile below the first one. Letum's body collapsed in a pool of blood on the floor. Allan watched in fascination, horror mixed with hope, as the figure moved quickly to cut through the ropes binding his arms and legs.

"It's all right, My Love," a familiar soft voice spoke to him. "It's all right now. I'll get you out of here."

The hood of the woman's cloak fell back to reveal the face of his wife, the face he had wanted to see one last time, the face he had never wanted to see in Nottingham again. She helped him to sit up, and as he tried to find his voice, to admonish her for being here, to thank her for saving him, he heard the sound of clapping coming from the stairs. His head snapped up at the voice which dripped sarcasm.

"Oh, very good. Did you hear that, Guy? 'My Love'? I told you he'd be in your bed every time you left home." The sheriff's gaze narrowed as the jewels on Deirdre's knife glinted in the firelight. He recognized the knife and knew immediately that the store-room had not been the first time Deirdre had stolen from him. " _You!_  I should've killed you the last time I had you in my dungeons."

Guy looked to his master in confusion. "Milord? I don't understand."

"Of course you don't Gisbourne. Your  _fiancé,_ the  _Lady_  Deirdre, is the thief who made me look like a fool in front of Prince John last fall."

Guy stared in horror at Deirdre. He swallowed and turned to Vasey, "Milord, once she is my wife …."

"She will never be your wife Guy, unless you wish to marry a corpse. Seize her!"

The guards grabbed Deirdre's arms and held her as Guy turned desperately to the sheriff. "Milord, if you let her live, if you give her to me, you have even more to hold over O'Niall. He will be beholden to you not only for sparing her life, but also for keeping a secret which could destroy their family."

The Sheriff of Nottingham raised a considering eyebrow, "Go on."

"Milord, Deirdre will be docile, under your thumb, knowing that we could destroy her family with this information. And we would still have our powerful alliance." Despite his disappointment in her, Guy did not want to lose that power, the power he would gain as her husband.

Vasey looked to the cell, a sour expression on his face. "Don't bother getting up for us," he added as Allan tried to stand. "We'll be taking Guy's bride now."

Guy released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, closing his eyes for a moment.

Deirdre was looking steadily toward Guy and the sheriff. "Guy, I'm…"

"Don't!" The word was wrenched from Guy's throat as he turned back to face her. "Don't say you're sorry. No more lies, Deirdre. You  _will_  become my wife and I  _will_  lock you away."

Guy paused, his face hard, eyes glittering with menace for his former friend. "As for you, Allan, you will be hung just as soon as you see us wed." Gisbourne turned, looking to the guards as Vasey smiled smugly. "Bring them each to a cell. I'll get the priest to come down here now and we'll fulfill the marriage contract."

The guards moved, but away from Allan and Deirdre, instead grabbing Vasey and Guy. The lead guard removed his helm, grinning impishly at Gisbourne.

"Sorry, Guy, she's already spoken for," said Robin Hood before punching Guy in the jaw hard enough to knock him out. Little John, who had been holding the sheriff, knocked him on the head in the midst of him crying out for the real guards. Robin turned to Deirdre.

"Was that  _really_  you last fall?"

"It was."

Robin looked her up and down, new respect on his face. "Hmm." He turned to the gang. "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

Allan was trying to stand, waving off the offers of help. "I can stand. Let's just go," but then his body made a liar out of him by collapsing almost immediately as his legs gave out. Deirdre and Little John caught him, making him cry out as their arms made contact with his decimated back.

Deirdre looked pleadingly at Robin, who glanced around the dungeon, eyes coming to rest on a stretcher in the corner that was used to remove dead prisoners. He called to Much and they grabbed the stretcher, laying it on the floor at Allan's feet. Deirdre and Little John laid Allan back on the stretcher, but it immediately became apparent that he would be unable to make it out that way as he couldn't stand being on his back at all and quickly rolled to his knees, then used the bars of the cell to pull himself to his feet.

"I told you I could stand. I'll be all right," Allan protested weakly, leaning his side against the bars.

Deirdre raised her eyebrows at him, shooting him a look of incredulity. "You can barely stand, let alone walk. You'll lie on the stretcher."

Allan's pride had been wounded by being found in the torturer's hands; getting caught meant your plan hadn't worked. He was no longer at someone else's mercy though and felt a stubborn steak take hold. Deirdre was his wife and he didn't want to look weak in front of her—it was bad enough she had rescued him and killed his tormentor. "I'll not lie on the stretcher."

Deirdre was experiencing her own stubborn streak, just wanting Allan out of there quickly, more concerned with his wounded body than his wounded pride. "You will. If you lay on your belly, your back won't be jarred and we can get you out of here. Now lie down."

Allan began walking, his gait pained, feet shuffling. He took only a few steps before collapsing again, this time nearly falling into Robin's arms.

Robin looked at his friend, his spy, his traitor; in Allan's eyes, Robin could see all the pain and torment the man had gone through in the last year. He spoke calmly.

"Allan, we need you to do this. Please. Lie on the stretcher and pretend you're dead so we can get you out of here."

"And where do I go after that, Robin?"

Allan and Deirdre looked expectantly at Robin, who glanced at each of the gang in turn before his gaze returned to the couple.

"You'll come with us. Both of you."

Deirdre raised an eyebrow, preparing to argue even as her husband nodded his head.

"Thank you, Robin."

"Come on, Allan. Lie down and play dead before the real guards come down here."

Allan nodded, knowing Robin was right, and did as he said. The group walked out of the dungeon and through the castle gates, Deirdre playing the grieving widow; they didn't stop until they were safely in Sherwood.


	40. Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allan finds out about Deirdre's "condition".

Chapter Forty: Camp

Robin paced along the ridge that formed one of the sides of the camp. Starting from the edge of the camp, he paced to the large oak fifty feet away and then to the edge of camp again, looking in every time he came back near the camp. His fingers were interlocked, hands on his head, and he kept sighing in irritation, puffing up his cheeks before expelling the air in a whoosh.

As he paced toward the oak, he could see in the gnarled branches the grasping hands of the sheriff and Gisbourne reaching out to destroy all that was good, and his anger grew. He would turn then, and near the edge of the camp he would hear the fire crackling, the soft voices of the women as they tended Allan's wounds, Allan's light laughter as he attempted to be brave, and the low rumble of the other men's voices as they talked. At those moments he wanted nothing so much as to welcome Allan back home. To the tree again and Allan's betrayal cut deep, like the roots of the tree cutting into the rock. He and Allan had been fast friends, the two flirts, skirting trouble, but Allan had lost his footing and fallen into the abyss. Robin knew that the right thing to do, when his friend had fought his way back to the surface, was to hold out his hand, but pride was a vicious wall blocking his arm from reaching out.

Back toward camp and the family all together again, with one—actually two, Robin smiled to himself—new members, and his heart wanted nothing more than to forgive. The right woman could change a man, and now that that woman was carrying Allan's child …

And there was another problem. Deirdre had disobeyed his orders by going into Nottingham, endangering herself and her child, and committing a murder on top of it all. Robin didn't know if she had ever killed a man before, but he knew the dreams that haunted good people who had killed, whatever the reason. He had come to respect Deirdre in the past couple of days, even if he found her lack of judgment appalling, and wished she would have let him save her those nightmares.

Allan had nightmares too, according to Deirdre, dreams that haunted him, dreams of loss and of good men who had died because of the choice he had made. He thought of the things that Deirdre had said about  _why_  Allan had betrayed them and remembered the time he had been beating Allan in the castle kitchen. Allan had been on the stairs, trying to escape. Guy had been only a dozen or so paces away, talking to Marian with his back toward the stairs. All Allan would have had to do was to cry out, and Robin would've been caught; instead, Allan had allowed himself to be dragged back into the kitchen and had fought Robin on his own terms, without castle guards to save him. Allan had told Robin just before the fight that he loved them all and would never hurt them. Robin hadn't believed him at the time, but looking at the man now, at what he had suffered for someone else he loved, made Robin think that perhaps Allan  _had_  been telling the truth. He looked over to where Djaq was cleaning Allan's wounds while Deirdre bathed his forehead, holding his hand and murmuring words of comfort.

* * *

When she was finished bathing his wounds, Djaq handed Allan a cup.

"Drink this. It will help." She didn't tell him it would help him sleep. Djaq could see that his pride was already in tatters and didn't want him to refuse the healing that sleep would give him. She looked at Deirdre and decided that Allan's wife would also refuse the draft if she knew what was in it, and so handed another cup to her.

"Here. You need to keep up your strength."

Djaq watched as the effects of the concoction took hold and, though they fought it, Deirdre and Allan were both soon asleep. Djaq rose and covered the couple with a soft blanket they had stolen the previous winter from a nobleman on his way back from the Nottingham Christmas festivities. Clearing away the bandages and the poultice, Djaq left the couple to the deep, dreamless, healing sleep of the medicine.

* * *

The sun was shining when Deirdre awoke the next morning, feeling more refreshed than she had in some time. She turned her head to see Allan lying beside her—his eyes were closed, eyelashes fanning his face. As she watched, his eyelashes fluttered and he was soon staring at her in confusion with those beautiful blue eyes. In moments, the fog of sleep lifted and he smiled at her, rolling onto his side to pull her into an embrace, flinching as some of his wounds re-opened. He refused to let her go, nuzzling her neck and murmuring a soft "Mornin' luv" instead. Deirdre rubbed his arm, swirling the hair on his wrist with her finger, fighting off the tears that always seemed to threaten her lately before rising to go get something for them both to eat.

Much was at the fire, cooking the morning meal, when he looked up to see Deirdre approaching. He still wasn't comfortable with the woman—she'd nearly killed him more than once and always looked at him like she wanted to finish the job. He looked down at the food, hoping she would just take what she needed and go away, but as usual, he was not so lucky. Deirdre stopped and hunkered down across the fire from him, reaching for the oat cake batter.

"May I?"

Much handed her the bowl, and then the bag of spices he kept when she gestured for that as well, looking at her suspiciously. He watched her sort through the spices and started to object when she began adding some of them to the dough, but she waved him down and finished, stirring in the new ingredients. She molded the dough into cakes which she put on a stone near the fire, covering them before sitting back and removing the dough from her fingers.

"Well, they'll never cook like that." Much was feeling superior. Perhaps Lady Deirdre was trying to help, but it was obvious she didn't know her way around a kitchen if she was putting the bread  _next to_  the fire to cook. Lord alone knew what spices she had put into the batter; he would have to start all over again.

Deirdre smiled at Much, ignoring his protestations, waiting for the dough to rise. She poured a cup of mead and brought it to Allan, returning quickly before Much could touch her bread. They sat in silence for a while as Much cooked the eggs for everyone. Soon, the eggs were done and the bread was ready for cooking. She placed the cakes in the ashes and took a plate of eggs to Allan, only eating her own when he was finished. She returned to the cook fire with the plates and found the bread was done. Allan of course received the first oat bread cake, followed by the rest of the gang. Much tasted his warily, then devoured it quickly, finding it to be the best he'd had since he and Robin had lived at Locksley.

"What did you put in the batter? It's light and it's sweet and…"

Deirdre grinned at him. "Family secret."

"Family secret? But you're a lady! Nobles don't know how to cook!"

"My mum was a cook. Dad's the noble." Deirdre made the statements matter-of-factly, but Much wouldn't have been more surprised if she had told him that the sheriff was seen handing out handfuls of silver coins to great crowds of the poor.

Deirdre's smile faded. She looked at the ground, then back up a Much's honest face.

"I'm sorry Much."

"What?"

"I said, I'm sorry. For trying to kill you. It's just … I love Allan so much and when you said those hurtful things about him …" Deirdre paused, then soldiered on. "How would you feel if I were saying horrible things about Robin?"

"Well, there's nothing horrible  _to_  say about Robin! He's kind and he's generous and he's …"

"Exactly. You've made my point. Just as you love Robin as your master, I love Allan as my husband. I simply cannot allow anyone to speak poorly of him. Do you understand?"

"Yes. And no. What Allan did …"

"Is in the past. It's done. He's paid for it many times over. Let it lie, Much, I'm begging you."

Much frowned, but nodded his agreement just as Robin sauntered up.

"Deirdre, I'd like to have a word with you. In private."

Much looked at his master's face and began gathering up the dishes. "Well, I need to go wash these anyway."

When Much had left, Robin looked at Deirdre, anger stamped on his face.

"Deirdre, what you did yesterday was wrong."

Deirdre looked at him in consternation.

"Going to Nottingham. Allan didn't want you there, in harm's way and I had given you a direct order to stay here."

Deirdre's chin came up. "I don't take orders very well,  _Robin Hood_." She growled his name, her anger apparent.

"You will if you wish to stay with us."

"Well maybe I don't want to stay with you."

"There are others to think of now. Allan, who is injured," Robin paused, "and your baby."

Deirdre looked away to gather herself. Robin was right. She really hated it when she was wrong and someone else was right. As she turned her head, she looked into the shocked features of her husband.

* * *

Allan felt much better after Deirdre brought him something to drink and some food. She smiled down at him and took his dishes away as Djaq arrived to change his bandages. He gritted his teeth as she carefully removed the old bandages and bathed his wounds, turning his head to find Deirdre; the mere sight of her gave him comfort, but she was nowhere he could see from his prone position. Djaq finished and helped him to sit up. He turned, and that’s when he spotted Deirdre by the cook fire. He smiled, but she was facing off to the side, watching Robin approach. Robin said something to Much, who left in a rather big hurry. Allan frowned. What was going on with that?

Robin looked uncomfortable as he spoke, then Deirdre’s face turned red as she glared up at the leader. Whatever Robin was saying, Deirdre was obviously not happy with it. Allan rose stiffly to his feet and wandered over. Neither of them turned at his approach. He was close enough to hear them before they noticed him.

"There are others to think of now. Allan, who is injured," Robin paused, "and your baby." Robin’s tone was hard, his command voice.

Allan stopped dead in his tracks as Deirdre turned, coloring. Her shock had Robin turning toward him, too.

"Allan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blurt it out like that. If I had known you were standing there …" Robin’s apology sounded hollow to Allan’s ears, but then the whole world had suddenly started to spin. He caught himself before he dropped to his knees, spreading his legs and leaning forward a bit like he was caught in a blustery head-wind.

Allan gawked at Deirdre, his bewilderment turning to joy. He had never thought to even be married, let alone to be a father. The whole idea was frightening and overwhelming, but at the same time, it made his heart soar. He had been glad to see Annie and little Seth go, but the thought of a child of his own, and with Deirdre, was entirely different. Recent events had made him realize how truly lonely he had been at the castle before Deirdre had come along and how much he had missed the camaraderie, the feeling of family, he had had with the gang. Now he and Deirdre were starting their own family and the gang seemed to have forgiven him—he would never be lonely again. His delight turned to consternation as Deirdre reached for his hand, sadness in her eyes.

"Allan, we need to talk. Come with me."

Robin watched as the couple walked away and disappeared in the woods.


	41. The Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre comes clean. Can Robin and the gang forgive her? What about her husband?

Chapter Forty-one: The Baby

Deirdre led Allan away from the group. He was not going to be happy with her and she wanted some privacy to let him rant and rave a bit. They came to a clearing and Deirdre stopped, turning to face her husband. She looked at the hope, the happiness on his face, and died a little inside, knowing she would be the one to erase that look. She squared her shoulders and swallowed, figuring it was best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Deirdre, is it true? A child? I mean, I suppose it could be true, but I never thought that … "

He had been running off at the mouth in his excitement, but Deirdre's look of sadness pulled him up short.

"What's wrong? You haven't lost it?" A thought even more horrible hit him from out of nowhere.  _What if it’s not mine? What if it’s Gisbourne's?_

"Allan."

_Oh Lord, just don't let it be Gisbourne's._

"Allan, I don't know how to tell you this."

_Never mind. It can be Gisbourne's, just don't have lost it. I'll play daddy to Gisbourne's child, raise 'im as my own, just don't let Deirdre have gone through losin' a child without me there._

"Allan, I'm not pregnant."

Allan closed his eyes against the sudden pain of loss.

"Deirdre, I'm so sorry you 'ad to go through that all alone. Was Djaq there to 'elp you at least?"

Deidre lowered her eyebrows in consternation.

"What are you talking about?"

"Losing the child. Are you all right?"

"Losing the … of course I'm all right. Allan, I was never pregnant in the first place."

Now it was Allan's turn to look confused.

"Then why would Robin say that, about you risking 'the baby'?"

Deirdre looked down, frowning as she scraped her toe in the dirt.

"Deirdre, what 'ave you done?"

"I, um …" Suddenly her foot seemed to be the most fascinating thing in the world. "I may have let Robin believe I was carrying your child."

"You did what?" Allan shook his head, trying to keep up with his wife. "So, no baby? There never was?"

Deirdre heard the disappointment in his voice and nearly cried. She had known from the look of joy on his face before that the news would sadden him, but now she watched as he moved to a nearby oak and nearly collapsed against it, flinching as his back met the bark, then putting his head on his arms as he sat heavily and drew his knees up.

"Allan, I'm sorry. I was going to tell Robin that I wasn't really pregnant but then we were getting you out of town and trying to mend your back and then you overheard him saying about the baby. I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?"

Deirdre's eyes were threatening tears as Allan looked up at her, his own eyes moist. He reached for her and pulled her close, nuzzling her hair. He wept for a bit, holding her, then pulled away a little, feeling foolish; he was crying over the loss of something that had never been. Deirdre clung to him as he pulled her to sit beside him; she was crying too, for his pain. Allan dried his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Luv, for acting like such a idiot. It's just ... " Allan hesitated. As much as he loved and trusted Deirdre, it was still hard for him to share his feelings with her, particularly feelings of sorrow. He just didn't know how to tell her that it had seemed like things were finally coming all together for him—he was back with the gang, and had a wife he loved, and a child on the way—and then just as suddenly, the floor had fallen out from under him again.

Looking into his pain-filled eyes, Deirdre understood. The loss of his mother when he'd been but a child, his father's withdrawal and betrayal, his brother's death, the loss of the gang who had become a surrogate family had all culminated in the sense of loss over a child that never was.

"Allan, you're not an idiot. You looked so happy before I told you that there was no baby. I'm sorry that there isn't. But maybe there could be."

Deirdre looked at him innocently; kissing his mouth, she could still taste his tears. She crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to ease his pain. And they could both use the stress relief.

Soon, Allan's arms were around her waist, pulling her closer as he returned her kisses. He rolled her to the ground, pinning her beneath him as he increased the urgency of his kisses. She kissed him back, trying to ease his pain, giving herself over to him completely. When they were dressed and able to catch their breath again, Allan turned to Deirdre.

"So you lied to Robin. After he promised to come and get me, you lied to him." Allan sounded defeated. Deirdre glanced at him from under her eyelashes and swallowed, afraid to answer.

Allan sighed in irritation, rising to lean his side against the oak tree. He looked at Deirdre expectantly.

Deirdre risked a peek back at him and decided she'd better defend herself. Quickly.

"Well, Allan, you were in trouble and I had to get you out of there and Robin and the gang didn't appear too happy about the idea of going to rescue you and so I kind of let them think I was carrying your baby and it worked, 'cause here you are, safe and almost sound and no one got hurt … "

"Deirdre!" The sound of her name spoken sharp like that reminded her of her father or Martin when she'd sent them over the edge of reason. She hadn't wanted to hear that from Allan.

"So like I said, you lied to Robin."

"Not really."

"What do you mean, ‘not really’?"

"Well, I never actually  _told_  him I was pregnant, I just sort of led him to believe that I was."

Allan shoved a hand through his hair in aggravation, massaging his forehead at the same time.

"What. Did. You. Do?" Each word escaped from between his clenched teeth.

"Well, I sort of asked him to rescue you for me. For us," she added, hand to her belly as she had done with Robin the day before.

Allan felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. He knew they had to be honest with Robin, but he was afraid the gang would kick him out again, only this time he was injured and had a wife that Gisbourne and the sheriff would be hunting. His survival instinct was screaming at him that they had to keep this a secret, that telling the truth would be their death sentence, but he also knew that lying to Robin had turned out poorly the last time.

"Jazus, Deirdre, what've you done? We 'ave to tell Robin the truth. You 'ave to tell 'im you're not pregnant. Now."

"Why? He'll only get mad and maybe tell us to leave. I'm not leaving until you're healed."

"Deirdre, one of the reasons 'e was so mad at me was 'cause I lied. We 'ave to tell 'im the truth."

Deirdre crossed her arms and planted her feet. "I won't."

Allan's eyes widened in anger. "You will."

Deirdre raised a haughty eyebrow at him. "No."

"Now, Deirdre."

She shook her head and turned around, squealing in surprise as Allan lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the camp.

"Allan A Dale, you put me down right now!"

He kept walking, unperturbed even as she began to struggle.

"Allan, you're still healing! Put me down before you hurt yourself!"

He ignored her protests, only putting her down when they stood in front of Robin, who looked at them askance.

Deirdre tried to turn away, but Allan held her firmly in place; she squirmed for a bit, then gave up. Allan's grip remained firm on her arms as he looked down at the back of her head. He knew that if he loosened his hold, she would bolt.

"Tell 'im."

"Tell me what?" Robin looked perplexed.

"Tell 'im, Deirdre, or I will."

Deirdre knew that if Allan had to tell Robin, she'd lose her husband's respect, as well as his trust. She sighed in aggravation at the whole turn of events.

Looking down at her toes, she mumbled, "I'm not pregnant."

Allan's finger poked her back. "Louder."

Deirdre glanced up, holding Robin's gaze. "I'm not pregnant," she said firmly.

Robin's eyes widened in surprise before he glared at her. "What? Why would you tell me you were? Why would you lie to me?"

Deirdre batted her eyelashes innocently. "In my defense, Robin, I never actually  _told_  you I was pregnant."

Robin began to pace in agitation. "You did!"

"I never actually said the words now, did I?"

Robin stopped pacing to glare at Deirdre once again. "What was the 'For us, Robin,' and the hands on your belly then?"

"You assumed I was pregnant, I just never told you I wasn't."

"When I asked, why did you nod?"

"I was just looking down for a moment, that's all."

"Deirdre, you lied."

"I never … I didn't … " Deirdre was finally flummoxed as her explanations met the stone wall of Robin's values. Allan's hold was still firm on her arms, but felt more like protection than capture now.

"Robin, she did it for me. She wasn't sure you would rescue me." Allan looked at Robin sincerely. "Please forgive 'er. She won't do it again."

Robin looked at Deirdre. "We were off to rescue Allan. How much more proof did you need?"

"I wasn't sure you would do everything you could, though. I wasn't sure you would risk yourselves."

"And that's why you came yourself."

Deirdre nodded her head, swallowing miserably; the tears were threatening to overflow again, much to her irritation, and the butterflies were jumping around in her stomach again as she looked at her feet, afraid of Robin's response.

Robin frowned at Allan's wife. He understood that kind of love—the love that trusted no one with your sweetheart's life. He wasn't happy with Deirdre, but he couldn't really blame her either. Robin and Allan gazed in understanding at each other over her head; all was forgiven, on both sides.

"Deirdre, look at me." She raised her eyes to look at Robin. "Deirdre, you can never lie to me again, never disobey me so long as you are with us. Understood?"

Deirdre nodded again, amazed that Robin had forgiven them, overjoyed that her mistake would not cost Allan Djaq's obvious skill in medicine.

"C'mon, we'd best tell the gang. Little John already feels horrible for pushing you so hard the other day."

The gang forgave her readily, with only a minimum of grumbling, especially as Robin explained it to them—they knew about love and devotion, the willingness to do anything for the one you loved. Much was nearly gleeful, "I, for one, am relieved. The thought of miniature Allan A’Dale's running around was disconcerting at best."

Allan clapped him on the back. "I'm sure we'll have some eventually—we'll name the first one Much."

"Really?" Much sounded pleased.

"No," Allan and Deirdre answered in unison, smiling.

* * *

Guy and the sheriff had awoken to horrible head-aches in the cold and damp of the torture chamber. The sheriff lay tied on the rack, Gisbourne hung from the manacles in the ceiling; both had been gagged. They had finally been rescued when the next shift had come to relieve their mates, who had also been bound and gagged and left in a cell.

The sheriff's rage was white hot that not only had Robin Hood gotten away again, but that the little horse thief who had been living under his roof these many months, eating his food and enjoying his hospitality had also escaped yet again. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands around her throat and watch as the light died in her eyes.

Gisbourne's fury was cold and vengeful as the North wind. He did not want to kill her as the sheriff did. He would take his revenge when she was finally his wife. He would keep Allan locked in a cell, torturing him by day, lying with Deirdre at night. Deirdre would obey him because if she didn't it would mean more pain for Allan. He would keep Allan alive for weeks, months—at least until the birth of his first child with Deirdre. Gisbourne smiled grimly at the thought. He would hunt them down, and then they would pay.

 


	42. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince is coming to Nottingham and everyone is a-buzz.

Chapter Forty-Two: Preparations

Gisbourne was riding back into Nottingham from another unsuccessful hunt for Deirdre and Allan when his new second in command came running up to him. The man was young and eager, and worshipped Guy—he had been with Guy for five years and had been one of those only too happy to help in Allan's torture.

"Milord Gisbourne, a messenger has arrived from London, from the Prince. He is with Sheriff Vasey in the Great Hall. Lord Vasey wishes you to come to him posthaste."

Gisbourne swung quickly out of the saddle, handing the reins to the man—George, Gisbourne thought—and strode into the castle. Arriving in the Great Hall, he found Vasey and a dark-haired man enjoying the warmth of the fire. Vasey put down the cup of wine he had been drinking.

"Ah, Gisbourne, there you are. This is Harry, one of Prince John's messengers. He has some interesting news." The sheriff gestured magnanimously to the messenger.

Bowing low, the man began to speak. "My Lord Gisbourne, as I told Lord Vasey, a messenger arrived two weeks ago with an urgent dispatch for Prince John. This envoy, being from Fàelàn O'Niall, was seen immediately. He claimed that an injustice had been perpetrated against the O'Niall clan, namely that you, Sir Guy, had misled the prince into agreeing to a marriage contract between yourself and O'Niall's eldest daughter, the Lady Deirdre."

Gisbourne frowned darkly as the messenger continued.

"He further claimed that the Lady Deirdre was ineligible to become your wife, as she was already married to another man."

"What!" Gisbourne exploded. "That's impossible. She's..." He thought of the friendship that had developed between Deirdre and Allan, of the way she had called him "My Love" in the dungeons. His nostrils flared in fury as he clamped down on his tongue, indicating with a nod that Harry should go on.

"The prince is on his way now—he had a wish to speak to the sheriff on other matters and so will hear both sides of this argument while he is here and make his ruling at that time. I will help you prepare for the prince's arrival. My lords." Inclining his head, the emissary dismissed himself to go and speak to the kitchen staff about the prince's dietary requirements.

As soon as he was gone, Vasey turned to Gisbourne. "Well, well, well. Who knew the little tramp actually  _married_  your boy. In any case, we must find some way to convince Prince John that your claim is the valid one. Keep in mind, Gisbourne, if the prince takes you down, I am  _not_  going with you."

Glaring balefully, Gisbourne growled, "Don't worry, My Lord, the prince will be supporting my claim. Deirdre will be mine, as will her family's power."

* * *

Allan lay on his stomach as Djaq changed his dressing. His wounds were healing quickly—soon they would be nothing more than white stripes on his back and a bad memory. He watched Deirdre across the camp by the cook fire, talking and laughing with Much. Much seemed happy to share the cooking duties and Deirdre needed something to do, so the two got along most of the time. Occasionally, Deirdre stepped on Much's toes by adding spices he wouldn't have or cooking something differently than he would have. At those times, the two would argue, Deirdre would do what she wanted to anyway, and Much would reluctantly admit later that the food was good. Allan smiled at his wife, happy that she had taken to the forest so well, but wishing that they could have been man and wife on her father's estates instead.

Seeming to sense his eyes on her, Deirdre turned and smiled back at him, her eyes dancing with mischief. Suddenly a row erupted between her and Much as she took some of the meat and vegetables and lay them on a broad leaf with some spices, pinning the edges of the leaf together before laying the whole thing on one of the hot stones to cook. Much complained bitterly that the meat would never cook properly that way, but left the leaves alone. Allan shook his head in amusement and soon the whole camp was smiling. Laughing, Deirdre stood up and made her way back over to Allan and Djaq, Much's grumbling still bringing grins to everyone within earshot.

"How is he today, Djaq?"

The little Saracen smiled warmly at the blonde woman. She had never expected that Robin would have forgiven Allan for his betrayal, yet not only had Robin found it in himself to do just that, but he had allowed Allan's new wife to join them as well. Djaq was used to male companionship, but with Deirdre around, she found a camaraderie she had not known she had missed. Deirdre would occasionally sink into fits of temper and darkness, but mostly she was laughter and light and the mood of the camp was definitely affected by it.

"He is better every day, but he would heal faster if he did not strain himself."

"So I've told him. It's odd though, usually you don't have to remind a man  _not_  to strain himself." Deirdre raised her eyebrows at Djaq, a silent invitation.

Djaq accepted with a wink over Allan's back.

"Too true. It is usually harder to get them to work than to lie still."

Allan raised his head to look at Deirdre and tried to crane his neck around to see Djaq as well.

"Oy! I  _am_  still 'ere, y'know!"

The two women burst out laughing and Allan glowered at them, then grinned good naturedly at their teasing.

Will, who had been out on patrol, arrived back in camp suddenly, out of breath. Robin dropped the arrow he had been fashioning and crossed to the younger man. Allan got up stiffly and put on his shirt, taking Deirdre's hand and going to see what the urgent news was.

Will looked to each of their faces in turn before telling them.

"There was a messenger on the road. Headed to Nottingham. His livery looked like Prince John's."

Robin seemed to contemplate this information. "Get something to eat and drink, then go to Nottingham and learn what you can of this messenger. This may be what you two were waiting for," he added, turning to Allan and Deirdre. The couple looked at each other with hopeful expressions as Will went off to refresh himself.

* * *

Prince John was not in a good mood. He had planned to stop in Nottingham anyway as part of the royal procession, but lately his staunchest supporter had become a bit of a pain in his royal buttocks.

First, there was Robin Hood-constantly pouring water on the fires of his rebellion, and continually evading capture. Last autumn, the thing with the horse thief had made Vasey look all the more incompetent, and the prince was beginning to doubt Vasey's ability to properly rule Nottingham.

Now Nottingham's right hand man, Sir Guy of Gisbourne, was causing trouble. Unfortunately, that trouble was with  _his_  right hand man and adviser, Fàelàn O'Niall and O'Niall's willful oldest daughter. Unusual as it was, O'Niall cared more about his daughter's  _feelings_  than about political alliances, and since O'Niall was invaluable  _outside_  of England as well as within her borders, Prince John didn't need anyone annoying the big Irishman. Vasey and Gisbourne would have to be appeased somehow if O'Niall was truly challenging Gisbourne's claim on his daughter though. He was caught between a rock and a hard place—a place the Prince of England did not usually find himself in.

* * *

Nottingham castle was in an uproar. They had expected the prince to come, but not for weeks yet. In the meantime, Vasey had to figure out how to appease the prince and also how to get him to agree to the marriage. If Gisbourne were able to get his hands on that power, Vasey would benefit as well; he was not about to let the opportunity slip through Gisbourne's hands if he could help it.

* * *

The sound of wood against wood, hitting hard, rang through the air. Allan sat feeding small twigs into the fire; across from him, Much was fidgety.

"How can you be so calm? I mean, there's the messenger and your whole life with Deirdre hangs in the balance, and I mean it was only a week or so ago, you were being tortured in the dungeons, and well, I don't see how you can sit there so calmly like that. On top of that, your wife is sparring with Little John."

Allan shrugged, "Nothin' I can do about any of it just now. It'll sort itself and me worryin' ain't gonna help it none."

Just then, a cry rang out, followed by a bellow of pain. Little John came limping back to the main camp, bent nearly double, followed by an apologetic Deirdre.

"I really didn't mean to catch you  _there,_  Little John. It was an accident, I swear!"

John crouched in a corner, growling at Djaq when she tried to come near. Allan grinned wickedly at his wife, who broke into a giggle herself at her husband's look.

"It really  _was_  an accident."

Allan held out his hand. "I'm sure it was, Luv. Come 'ere and settle yourself for a bit."

Deirdre had meant to sit next to Allan, but he gave a quick yank as she crossed her ankles, and she suddenly landed in his lap. She yelped as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to nuzzle her hair, just enjoying being close to her. Much busied himself with the pots and the food in embarrassment, searching far too loudly for things he didn't need. Deirdre tried to escape, but Allan's arms were like steel bands around her, holding her to him.

"Allan, I need to  _do_  something. I can't just sit here and wait for Will to return."

"Well, Luv," he whispered in her ear, making her cheeks redden at the intimacy in front of his friends, "if you just need somethin' to do, we should take a walk and I'll 'elp you … keep busy."

To her further embarrassment, he pushed her out of his lap and rose to his feet, pulling her toward the woods. Robin came back from a patrol just then.

"Where are you two off to?" he asked solicitously.

Deirdre felt as if she was going to melt into the ground as Allan responded, "We're runnin' a bit low on fire wood. Me and Deirdre are goin' to go get more. We'll be back."

With that, he bent down to grab a blanket and led her off into the forest; they could hear Robin's voice as they left, "What happened to  _you_ , Little John?"

 


	43. Conflict & Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deirdre confesses her less-than-honest ways to her father.

Chapter Forty-Three: Conflict & Confessions

It was evening when Will returned to camp. He found everyone there except the couple who wanted the news he brought.

"Where are Allan and Deirdre?"

"They're out … gathering fire wood," Much replied snootily.

"What's wrong with him?" Will asked Djaq, who smiled patiently.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? They're not  _really_  gathering fire wood. That's one of those things, like Marian said." Much looked to each of their faces, his own red and warm.

Robin snorted in derision and shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Much! They're married, so even if it was 'one of those things' …."

"What things?" Allan asked, holding one end of a blanket full of wood and smaller twigs; Deirdre held the other end. Walking into the camp, they lay the blanket down by the wood pile.

Much scowled. "Never mind. Will has something to say, I believe."

Will looked at Much with raised eyebrows before turning to face Robin and the others.

"The man was definitely one of Prince John's messengers. It seems that the prince was about to leave on his royal procession when Lord O'Niall's messenger arrived at court. He decided to make Nottingham his first stop to hear both sides of the story about the marriage contract. He will make his ruling before he moves on. Deirdre and her father, as well as Deirdre's husband…" Will glanced at Allan, "have been summoned to give their accounting before the prince."

"But what if it's a trap?" asked Djaq.

"Of course it's a trap," Allan cut in. "You stay 'ere, Deirdre, 'til I bring you word."

"What do you mean, 'stay here'?" Deirdre glared at her husband. "Do you honestly think I would let you go back into Nottingham alone after I just rescued you?" At a look from Robin, she amended, " _We_  just rescued you?"

"'Let'?! There's no 'let' about it, Luv. I'm your 'usband. I'm the man. I'll go into town, tell PJ what a liar Giz is, then we're off to live in a nice little manor on your da's lands, raising lots of little A' Dale's to drive Much round the bend."

"Oh, really." Deirdre's voice was low with menace; the gang found something else to look at quickly.

Much, his head turned to the side, muttered in a sing-song voice, "Awkward," making it three syllables.

Allan ignored him, holding his wife's glare, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, feet planted firmly. He quirked an eyebrow at her, daring her to defy him.

"Yeah, really."

"How  _dare_  you order me around?"

"Look, you took a vow to obey me and you're gonna obey me!"

"I never said any such thing!"

"You're my wife. It's part o' the deal!"

"We had a hand fasting, not an actual ceremony with a priest, and I never agreed to obey you!"

"It's understood!"

Allan and Deirdre were in each other's faces now, and though Robin didn't want to get involved, he spoke up anyway.

"Allan. Deirdre." Robin laid a hand on each of their arms as he said their names.

"What? " they both shouted at him before subsiding.

"It doesn't matter anyway. Prince John has stated that you must  _both_  show up. If Deirdre doesn't show up, the insult alone would probably be enough to make him rule against you. Deirdre's father will have to pass this way on his way to Nottingham. I think you should join up with him. We'll come as well as part of his retinue. If there's any trouble, we'll get you out of there. Agreed?"

Allan frowned, but nodded his agreement, and Deirdre smiled smugly at her husband before turning away to begin sorting the fire wood.

"Ain't love grand?" Robin clapped Allan lightly on the arm and smirked at his friend, glad to have him back.

Allan glared for a moment, then his mood cleared. "Just wait'll you and Marian're hitched, then we'll see who's laughin'!"

The two grinned and walked off together to make a plan should they need to escape from Nottingham yet again.

* * *

Guy slammed the door to his quarters. He strode into the room, pacing back and forth between the window and the bed. He reached out and swiped at the tin cup on his bedside table, sending it clattering across the room. Married. She was married to that … commoner, that common thief, that pickpocket who would sell his own grandmother for a hapenny.

It was bad enough that she spent time with the man, that she had given herself to him, but to have made vows with him before God was not only an insult, but was very nearly heresy. Next pass by the table, he kicked it, knocking the cross his mother had given him to the floor. He turned on the bed next, tearing the covers off before shredding the pillows. The rage was white hot and had not been assuaged by the destruction. He stalked from the room, his mood a dark shadow that encompassed him and sent servants and dogs alike scattering before it.

Arriving at the stables, he growled for a stableboy to ready his horse, smiling in cruel satisfaction as the beautiful black stallion _she_ had gifted him was brought forth. D’Jinn nickered and nuzzled his hand. Guy mounted in the quick fluid motion of an expert rider. He gathered the reins, yanking them, and kicked the stallion into motion, galloping from the castle grounds without thought of who they might run over in their swift passage. Once out in the open, the stallion ran as if the Devil himself were behind them. The wind whipped D’Jinn’s mane into Guy’s face as he bent forward a bit. The pain and the stallion’s joy and speed soon eased the rage down to a cool anger and he pulled up on the reins, bringing D’Jinn down to a walk as they entered the lush darkness of the forest.

The stallion blew hard, but shook his head up and down, jangling the reins, eager to go again should Guy ask it of him. Guy reached forward and patted the black neck. The stallion whickered at him. Guy smiled. The heat of his rage had made him want to beat the animal to death, along with all of the others Deirdre had gifted them at Christmas, but now that he was calmer, he realized that would only make him look bad when the prince arrived. Better to hold his temper now, then make the object of his rage suffer once she was finally his. All he had to do was convince Prince John that his own claim took precedence and that he had not played the prince false. Otherwise, the sheriff would toss Guy to the wolves without a second thought.

* * *

Fàelàn O'Niall rode through the forest on his way to Nottingham. Brianna had wanted to come with him, but he did not trust the sheriff and so had insisted she stay at home. He had brought some of his finest warriors to ensure his escape with Deirdre should the need arise, although with the prince there, Fàelàn felt a bit less edgy. Mainly, he couldn't wait for the sheriff to answer for locking up his daughter.

The road curved, passing through a dense canopy of trees and there was a sudden commotion just ahead as a group of outlaws stepped out from the forest. Fàelàn made to draw his sword, before he spied the laughing eyes of his daughter and new son in-law amongst the group. He dismounted quickly, as did the men, who had also spied their master's daughter.

Soon, Deirdre was surrounded by laughing, smiling men; some spoke English, some Irish, but all were happy to see her alive, well, and not in residence in Nottingham's dungeons. After the obligatory introductions, they made camp a little way off the road so Deirdre and Allan could fill her father and his men in on all that had happened since Deirdre's incarceration. Fàelàn was pleased with Allan's rescue of his daughter and very upset over his son in-law's torture, unsurprised that Deirdre had taken part in  _his_  rescue.

It was dark by the time they finished telling their stories. Across the fire, Deirdre sat staring at her father, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. She knew that her father would have to know the whole story before he entered Nottingham with them, but since he was unaware of her sticky-fingered activities, she was loathe to tell him, concerned about his reaction. Deciding that it would be best to have witnesses, and that  _all_  of the men should know what they were getting into, Deirdre spoke up.

"Father."

Fàelàn looked up at his eldest daughter. He had always thought her to be beautiful, but marriage seemed to agree with her. Her skin had a healthy glow that had nothing to do with the fire, although her eyes looked troubled. No matter, once Sir Guy's suit was denied and her marriage to Allan confirmed, that look would no doubt go away.

"What is it, Muirnín?" His calling her "sweetheart" threw her off, made her feel even worse that she was about to anger him.

"I …" Deirdre looked uncertainly at Allan, who gazed at her questioningly, but put his arm around her in support. "I have to tell you something, Athair."

Fàelàn began to get nervous. Deirdre only called him father in Irish when she had done something truly terrible. He raised an eyebrow at her, encouraging her to continue.

"Athair, do you remember when you left Nottingham, how the sheriff was going to lock me up for stealing his money?"

"Do I remember? Deirdre, I cannot wait for that evil weasel of a man to pay for his insults! As if a member of Clan O'Niall would ever need to steal from the likes of him."

"Athair, Nottingham spoke true." Her voice was barely a whisper, but carried in the silence of the night.

Fàelàn's face was an implacable mask. "What did you say, Deirdre?"

Allan's arm tightened around Deirdre's shoulders. He remembered his own reckoning with his father over his and Tom's thieving and the way his da had turned them both out.

"I  _did_  steal that money from the Sheriff of Nottingham. I've stolen from many others as well. I also stole a horse and a dagger from Nottingham last autumn. The horse was meant for the prince. The theft made the sheriff look incompetent, and he would like nothing more than to see me swing, except perhaps to hold power over you with his knowledge."

Fàelàn rose quickly for a big man, his anger vibrating the air around him. Allan scrambled to his feet, putting Deirdre behind him, ready to defend his wife. The men and women on both sides of the fire also rose, although more cautiously, shuffling their feet nervously.

Deirdre gazed at her father, eyes wide in fright. "Athair?"

"Gadaí! Ná labhair liomsa níos mó- Tá Muintir Uí Néill náirigh agat!" Fàelàn stalked away, his anger a companion in the dark shadows of the trees.

Allan turned just in time to catch Deirdre and lower her gently to the forest floor, where she began rocking and crying.

"Deirdre? What was that all about? What did he say?"

Deirdre looked up at Allan through tear-stained eyes. "He called me a thief. He told me not to speak to him anymore, that I have shamed the O'Niall name."

Allan pulled Deirdre into his arms; resting his chin on her head, he whispered words of endearment as she continued to cry.

* * *

Fàelàn was grooming his stallion, a difficult job at best in the moonlight, but one which usually worked off his anger.

"Mo Tiarna." Martin addressed his friend respectfully.

"Don't call me your lord—you know how it annoys me."

"I would rather have you angry with me than with Deirdre."

"I am not angry with her." At Martin's raised eyebrow, Fàelàn amended, "I am furious. And disappointed. And ashamed," Fàelàn finished heavily.

"You never asked why she did it, Fàelàn."

"You don't' seem surprised that she did it."

"Do you remember years ago when she asked you to give a goodly portion of your money to the poor?"

"As I recall, it was  _all_ of my money and I told her that we could not help the poor by becoming one of them."

"She argued with you."

"And I stood firm."

"Aye. And thought you had won. You should have known better. She went out that day. She was fuming, so I followed her just to keep her out of trouble, and a good thing I did too. She nearly got caught robbing from your neighbor's house. I rescued her, but she refused my help unless I helped her to liberate some of old Snowdon's wealth with her first. I couldn't let her be captured and punished for something she did in a fit of anger with you, so I helped her. She spent the money in the next town over, trading it to the people rather than giving it to them. I asked her why she didn't just give it to them and she said that if they worked for the money they would feel better about themselves than if she just gave it to them. I never told you about it because I thought it was a one-time thing. I was wrong."

Fàelàn was staring in open-mouthed shock at his friend. "Why didn't you stop her after that?"

Martin looked at Fàelàn incredulously. "Have you not met your daughter?"

Fàelàn smiled ruefully. "I see what you mean." Sighing heavily, he added, "So she's been doing this for years? Stealing from my friends and neighbors to give their money to the poor?"

"Not just your friends and neighbors." Martin hesitated. "Do you remember all those suitors that were entertained and then turned away?"

Fàelàn rolled his eyes. "Lord, give me strength."

"You only need it long enough to go apologize to Deirdre, fix this marriage contract mess and get her properly married off to A' Dale, then  _he'll_  be the one needing the strength."

"No longer than that, eh?" Fàelàn raised a rueful eyebrow before smiling at his friend.


	44. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fàelàn forgives Deirdre, but can Guy? Allan worries about Fàelàn's loyalties.

Chapter Forty-Four: Forgiveness

Fàelàn walked back to the clearing and the fire-ring. Watching Allan hold his daughter, he knew she had chosen correctly, particularly since the young man now turned a face black with wrath toward him. Most men trembled when Fàelàn O'Niall was irate; Allan A' Dale did not seem to suffer from that affliction. In fact, Allan was quick to jump between Deirdre and  _any_  known danger from what Fàelàn had seen. For that fact alone, Fàelàn would have supported her choice of Allan—it was obvious the man loved his daughter more than anything and would protect her no matter the cost.

Allan spoke, his tone acerbic as he glared at his father in-law. "Milord, meanin' no disrespect, but I believe you owe Deirdre an apology. Maybe what she done wasn't right, but she done it out o' the goodness of 'er heart. I watched 'er in Nottingham this last winter, and there's dozens o' families what woulda starved or froze to death if she hadn't 'elped 'em. You go into Nottingham today and you watch 'ow the people treat 'er. They love your daughter—every man, woman, and child; even the dogs love 'er! You shouldn't be ashamed of 'er, you should be proud—I know I am."

"You're right." Fàelàn's words stopped Allan's tirade and had Deirdre looking up hopefully. "I've spoken to Martin, who also reminded me of what a willful, but kind-hearted, daughter I have."

"And why did it take Martin to remind you?" Deirdre wiped the tears from her eyes as she glanced to the side, refusing to meet her father's gaze.

Fàelàn sighed. "Because I am a foolish old man who does not deserve the forgiveness of his beautiful daughter."

Deirdre raised her head haughtily, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "So why  _should_  I forgive you?"

Allan's eyes went wide at this, not knowing this was a game they had played for years.

"Because I love you."

"And?"

"And because you're a sweet, wonderful, forgiving girl, with a heart of gold."

"And?"

Fàelàn grinned at his offspring, as always delighted with their verbal sparring.

"And because if you don't, I won't be able to spoil my grandchildren."

Deirdre lowered her head, her expression solemn as she thought of the lie she had told to Robin.

"What is it, Muirnín?"

"It's nothing, Da."

Fàelàn mistook her look. "Do you think I do not know what goes on between a husband and wife? That I thought you two, young and healthy and in love, were married in name only?"

Deirdre glanced up, eyes wide in shock and horror. "Father!"

Fàelàn laughed at his daughter's alarm. "Please, Mo Chroí, your mother has already been choosing names for all the little ones she's planning on you two having."

"Please, Da, you're forgiven. Just stop talking about babies and … how they get here. I've enough brothers and sisters to give me nightmares if I thought about it."

"Fair enough." Fàelàn sobered. "But Deirdre, in all seriousness, you must stop your raiding. You are married and grown now and will soon have children of your own. Are we understood?"

Deirdre sighed heavily. "You sound like Martin."

Her father lowered his head, glaring at her.

"All right, all right. Understood."

* * *

Later that night, as Deirdre lay dreaming, Allan got up, too worried to sleep. Approaching the fire, he saw his father in-law and sat down a short distance from him. For long moments, neither man spoke.

"Tell me the truth, Milord. Do you think the prince will rule in our favor?" Allan looked up anxiously at Fàelàn.

O'Niall held Allan's gaze solemnly. "Allan, I am his advisor. It would not be in his best interests to antagonize me. He will rule in whatever way pleases me in this matter."

"Does he always do as you tell 'im?"

"No, but it's rarely personal. Don't worry Allan, by tomorrow evening we'll be leaving Nottingham for Dun Aisling, where you and Deirdre will be properly married."

Allan paused, afraid to bring up a subject that had been nagging at him.

"Milord, somethin's been botherin' me..." Allan swallowed, looking miserable. He would fight to Hell and back for Deirdre, but the idea of asking her father if he was in league with Prince John was daunting.

"Yes, Allan. What is it?" Fàelàn stared curiously over at his son in-law, who seemed to be fidgeting.

"Robin says all the time 'ow King Richard's the rightful king and Prince John's tryin' to steal the throne…"

Fàelàn smiled in understanding. "So you're wondering if I advised the prince to try to usurp the crown?"

Allan looked uncomfortable. "Did you?"

"No. I returned from the Holy Land when King Richard sent me to check on his brother. The king is no fool—he assumed his brother was up to something and so sent me to become Prince John's man. Truth to tell, I don't think either man is a good ruler; they are both too self-absorbed. But then I suppose, that's the way of royalty."

"So you're really King Richard's man?"

"I am the man of whoever wins in this fray, although I would prefer it to be Richard."

"And if it's not?"

"Then I will do what I can to soften John's rule. If need be, we'll flee back to Ireland."

"We?"

"You are family now, Allan. You and anyone you count as friend." Fàelàn grinned at Allan. "Besides, your wife would skin me alive if I tried to leave you behind."

Allan smiled back, giving a little laugh. "That's true, that."

Outside the light cast by the fire, Robin smiled to himself, more at ease now. He had heard that O'Niall had become John's man, but hearing the affection in the older man's voice when he spoke of Richard calmed Robin's suspicions.

The next morning, the little group was ready to leave by shortly after sunrise. They made their way apprehensively toward Nottingham and Prince John's verdict.

* * *

In Nottingham, Guy paced before the fire in the great hall. Prince John had arrived the day before, and a messenger from O'Niall had said that their party would reach Nottingham that morning. When questioned, the messenger had answered that both Deirdre and Allan were with Fàelàn O'Niall.

Guy clenched his fists. He wanted his revenge. He wanted Deirdre in his bed whether she wanted it or not. He wanted Allan dangling from the gallows, with no bag this time, and no Robin Hood to save him. All he had to do was keep calm for a short time longer and he would have a lifetime to make her pay.


	45. Prince John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The O'Niall party and the gang arrive in Nottingham to meet with the prince. But the sheriff and Guy have not given up.

Chapter Forty-Five: Prince John

The O'Niall party passed through the gates of Nottingham with mixed emotions. Fàelàn still wanted Sheriff Vasey to pay for locking up his daughter. Allan and Deirdre just wanted to be gone. Martin and his men, as well as Robin and the gang, were all on alert. All of them were hoping for the hearing to start quickly, none would get their way in this.

The group dismounted and Fàelàn O'Niall led his party toward the castle, Martin at his right hand, Allan on his left. Despite his still-healing wounds, Allan had insisted on being in the forefront; he and Deirdre had nearly gotten into a row when he had also commanded that she stay behind the three men. The rest of the guards, including Robin and the gang, who were wearing the helms and colors of the O'Niall family, closed ranks on the sides and behind the others.

At the foot of the steps, Prince John stood flanked by Vasey, Guy, Marian, and a small group of royal guards. Deirdre peeked between the shoulders of her father and her husband to catch a glimpse of the man her father had spoken of so often. To her surprise Prince John was a handsome man, with auburn hair, blue eyes and a generous mouth who stood nearly as tall as Guy. She exchanged a small, tight smile with Marian.

As Fàelàn approached, the prince stepped forward, arms outstretched, a smile on his face. O'Niall mirrored his prince and the two embraced, clapping each other on the back and chuckling.

"Fàelàn O'Niall, we had hoped you would be accompanying us on this procession," the prince admonished.

"My Lord, you do me honor. I would be happy to accompany you as soon as this … business ... has been cleared up." O'Niall's tone and sidelong glance at Guy made it clear that he found Sir Guy's refusal to give up his claim to be in extremely poor taste.

"Yes, well, we have decided to let you and Sir Guy work this out between you. We will only step in if things cannot be resolved."

"But My Lord!" Fàelàn exclaimed, knowing full well that speaking with Guy would be a waste of time.

"Fàelàn," the prince's blue eyes hardened, warning his advisor that compliance was expected, no questions asked.

Fàelàn subsided, "As you wish, My Lord."

"Very good. Vasey will see to it that you are properly housed." With that, Prince John turned on his heel and made his way back into the castle.

Vasey smiled greasily, "This way, Lord Fàelàn. Arrangements have been made for you and your … people."

Fàelàn followed the sheriff uneasily as he was shown to his quarters. “I trust this room will be to your satisfaction?” The sheriff sneered as he gestured toward the room that was little more than a closet. “Naturally, your men will sleep in the stables with the…other…animals.”

Fàelàn’s glare could have cut diamonds. “Naturally.” He glanced around the small chamber, at the single rickety bed with the threadbare blanket. “I will require two more beds, for my son-in-law and my man-at-arms.”

The sheriff grimaced, but gestured to a guard, who ran to comply. Guy’s nostrils flared at Fàelàn’s use of the familial name for Allan, but he bowed lightly, gesturing to Deirdre.

"Follow me. My Lady."

Deirdre eyed Guy warily and Allan moved quickly to stand in front of her.

"I'm not bein' funny, Guy, but she ain't goin' anywhere with you."

Guy turned a look of disdain on Allan. "Well, she can't stay with all of you."

The sheriff stepped in at that point. "Marian has agreed to let Lady Deirdre stay with her until this whole mess can be settled."

Fàelàn glared at the sheriff, certain that the sneaky little man was up to something, but not yet knowing what it was. "It's all right, Allan. Let her go."

"But …."

"Stand down Allan. For now. Deirdre is perfectly safe here." His tone made it clear that she had  _better_  be safe.

Allan stayed where he was, staring Guy down until Deirdre stepped out from behind him. She placed a hand on his arm, leaning up to kiss him briefly on the lips.

"I'll be fine."

Behind her, Guy's eyes narrowed, his lips compressed in rage as she kissed Allan.

Deirdre turned to face Guy and Vasey. "Under the circumstances, Sheriff, I'm sure you won't mind if my father sends a small escort to ensure my safety."

The sheriff smiled his lopsided smile, the one that made it look like he was trying to not be sick. "Of course not." Turning to O'Niall, he added, "We will speak after the noon meal. I'll send my guards to fetch you."

O'Niall inclined his head, choosing to ignore Vasey's use of the word "fetch" and then gestured for two of the guards to accompany Deirdre. As the door to their chamber closed, Allan turned on his father in-law.

"How could you let 'er go like that?"

"Allan, calm down. They were not going to let her stay with us. We did the best we could in getting Robin and one of my best guards to go with her. With luck, we will clear things up by tomorrow and be on our way."

"Tomorrow?"

Fàelàn put a hand on Allan's shoulder in a gesture of support. "Allan, do you really think the sheriff and Guy will just agree to let her out of the contract? They're up to something with this meeting this afternoon. Either way, you can be sure it will need to go before the prince."

Allan subsided, but he couldn't help being worried. He was sure that the longer they waited, the worse it would be.

* * *

"How are you?" asked Marian, once the door had safely closed behind Deirdre. She glanced suspiciously at the guard who had entered the room with her friend.

"I am well." Deirdre responded, hugging her friend.

"As am I," interjected the guard, removing his helm and bracing himself as Marian launched herself into his arms.

"What are you doing here?" Marian stepped back and slapped his chest.

"I came to see you, Luv," Robin grinned at her.

"Robin of Locksley, you should not be here. It is too dangerous," Marian hissed at him.

"That is why I am here, Marian. We couldn't let Deirdre and her father walk into danger now, could we?"

Marian turned to Deirdre, frowning. "I did not believe the sheriff when he told me that you would be returning to Nottingham with your father."

"It seems I had little choice. If I did not return, the prince would be angry with me for defying his orders—I would jeopardize not only my and Allan's position, but my father's as well. "

Marian frowned at Deirdre and at the idea of Allan having a "position".

"And what makes you think that Guy has been sitting around just waiting for you to tell Prince John that he lied to him? He will have some plan, you can be sure of that, especially since the sheriff seems more interested in your marital status than he should be." Marian glanced worriedly from Deirdre to Robin, whose smile had disappeared.

It was Deirdre's turn to frown. She knew they would be up to something, but she was sure that her father's position with Prince John would sway the prince in her favor—at least she was relatively sure. All she knew was that she was leaving with Allan, one way or another.

* * *

The Sheriff of Nottingham's guards came for them around midday, leading the O'Niall's to the sheriff's office. Inside, Guy and Vasey waited behind a big oak desk. Pointing to the one empty chair, Vasey spoke to Fàelàn before taking his seat. "O'Niall. Make yourself at home." Guy stood smirking behind the sheriff's right shoulder.

Fàelàn glanced at the chair, seating himself; on the other side of the desk Vasey had done likewise. Martin and Allan stood behind Fàelàn, Martin on his right, Allan on his left, their faces impassive.

"Milord Sheriff, I have come here at the request of my prince, but there is really nothing to say. Your man," here Fàelàn glanced at Sir Guy, "wrote a letter that  _he_  claimed was from my daughter. He fooled me into agreeing to a marriage that my daughter has no interest in. Deirdre is already married and was at the time."

"Yes, to a peasant."

"His breeding is of no consequence. Allan A' Dale has never misled me."

"Really? So you know he was an outlaw in Sherwood?" The sheriff smirked and raised his brows, certain he had given the Irishman new information.

" _Was_ is the important word there, I believe," Fàelàn replied smoothly.

Vasey was not finished yet, though. "And how about your sweet little girl? Has she never lied to you, either?"

"No, she has not."

"Then you will know of her … sticky fingered activities."

"My Lord Sheriff, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Fàelàn would not admit it even if the sheriff said it outright.

The sheriff leaned forward on his desk, fingers intertwined under his chin. "Come now, Fàelàn. We are both men of the world. Your daughter stole from me. Twice. One of those times it was a stallion meant for your dear Prince John. He was quite upset over the loss. I wonder how he would feel if he knew  _who_  had cost him the stallion, eh?" The sheriff leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied look.

Fàelàn paled, "Surely, Vasey, you would not put forth such a lie!"

"Lie? It's no lie. Your daughter will marry Guy. She will bring not only her dowry but the power of your own good name with her. Otherwise, no more good name. You know, Prince John was so angry he wanted to hang the little horse thief."

"You have no proof!"

"Oh, but I do. On her way out of the castle, after she had been caught stealing the horse, your daughter stole a jeweled dagger from me—the same one she used to slit the throat of one of my men. She seems quite fond of it. I'd be willing to bet she still has it with her. My guards have gone, with Prince John's guards, to fetch it from her even as we speak." Vasey watched in pleasure as the men before him paled.


	46. Bribery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sheriff knows the dagger will prove to be Deirdre's downfall. Will he find it on her?

Chapter Forty-Six: Bribery

Deirdre and Marian were strolling along the corridors, flanked by a myriad of guards. They had tried to get rid of the sheriff's guards by sending them to the stables to ready some horses for a mid-afternoon ride, but the men had insisted that they must stay with the ladies. The sheriff’s men were really proving inconvenient.

Much as she adored that jeweled dagger she had pinched from the sheriff last autumn, she knew that it’s unique nature would trip her up one day. She was thankful that she had wrapped it so tightly just under her breasts before her unfortunate capture and incarceration, and just as thankful that the guards still had enough respect for her person not to have done a more thorough check of her clothing. 

Had they caught her with it that day, she might have been strung up there in the courtyard in front of her parents. The sheriff had been apoplectic enough over the theft of his illicit monies. Had he found the dagger, she would have been dead for sure. She had brought it with her on this trip with the intention of returning it at the first opportunity, but that opportunity had yet to present itself with the sheriff's guard so...on guard. 

Deirdre sighed heavily, frowning as they strolled through the castle hallways. Her mind was working so hard that she didn’t hear the words Marian was saying. Marian nudged her. “Don’t you think, Deirdre?”

Deirdre blinked. “Um, yes, of course.” She looked back at the guards following them, including Robin, and a small smile formed on her lips. Opportunity. Outlaw-shaped.

"Robert, see that the horses are readied. But first, be sure to let the sheriff know what we are doing, lest he think we are trying to escape his hospitality."

"Yes, Milady." The guard had stood between Deirdre and the rest of the group.

Deirdre leaned in, palming a satin-wrapped object to him. “I acquired this last fall, remember? See it’s returned for me?” she whispered to him. Robin looked at the jewel-encrusted blade in his hands, quickly pushing it up between his own shirt and that of the guard uniform. He strode away to be stopped by Deirdre's voice.

"Robert, be sure to leave that message for the sheriff first, yes?"

Robin turned and bowed low. "Yes, Milady," he responded with a twinkle in his eyes, making a quick kiss motion to Marian.

* * *

In the sheriff's office, a guard entered and moved to whisper something in the sheriff's ear. Vasey's face turned red, his lips pursed in anger before he waved the guard away.

Fàelàn, who read body language as easily as a farmer reads the weather, noticed immediately.

"Is something amiss, Lord Vasey?"

Vasey gave a small laugh, looking slightly sick. "Nothing that need concern you, Lord Fàelàn. So, do we have an agreement?"

Guy was looking suspiciously at the sheriff; something was amiss.

Fàelàn decided to call Vasey's bluff. "My Lord Vasey, we do not. We will speak before the prince and let His Majesty decide."

Without another word, Fàelàn got up and, with his men following him, left the sheriff's chambers.

When the door had closed, Vasey turned to the guard. "Did you search the lady herself?"

The guard reddened and stammered, "No Milord, of course not! Besides, the lady was away from her chambers."

"Away?  _Away?!_  Where is she?!" Vasey looked apoplectic, eyes ready to burst from his head.

"She went for a walk with the Lady Marian."

"A walk? Well, find her! And when you find her, bring her immediately back to her chambers. I will send a maid that I trust to search her for the dagger."

The guard practically ran from the room to do the sheriff's bidding, nearly running over Fàelàn's party in his haste to find the Lady Deirdre.

Fàelàn gave Martin and Allan a knowing look, but refused to let anyone speak. He headed for the Great Hall, where he knew the prince would be busy looking over Vasey's accounts. As Fàelàn descended the stairs with his small group of men, Prince John looked up, a scowl on his face.

"Have you come to an accord, Fàelàn?"

"I am afraid that is impossible, Sire. Lord Vasey and Sir Guy wish for nothing less than the marriage contract to be fulfilled. As I have mentioned, my daughter is already wed, and even if she were not, I would not agree to this partnering at this point. The man deceived me to win my support. I am sure you understand how important it is to have men you can trust in your inner circle, My Lord?"

Prince John smiled ruefully. "We do understand that, Fàelàn. We do understand  _that_. So, we shall meet immediately and get this business over with, yes?" Prince John called a page to summon the sheriff and Gisbourne, who appeared soon after, nervously descending the stairs to stand before the prince.

"Sir Guy of Gisbourne, Lord Fàelàn O'Niall, advisor to kings has accused you of using deception to secure a marriage contract with his daughter, Lady Deirdre O'Niall. How do you answer this charge?"

Guy swallowed nervously, aware that his very life hung in the balance.  _Why had O'Niall not simply agreed to dissolve Deirdre's marriage to Allan? And where could that damnable dagger be?_

"My Lord, when I wrote to you, the Lady Deirdre had expressed interest in me as a husband. In fact, she had said that she would be pleased to be my wife. Begging your pardon, My Lord, but I do not see how I can be held accountable for the whims of a young woman's fancies."

"Indeed, women are fickle creatures. It seems however, that this one was already taken."

"My Lord, Lady Deirdre and Allan A' Dale were not married in a church by a priest. I would have known of it if that were so."

Prince John's interest peaked a bit at this information. He turned to Allan. "Is this so?"

It was Allan's turn to swallow nervously, looking to his father in-law for support.

Fàelàn smiled warmly at the younger man.

"Go on, Allan, it's all right."

At the prince's behest, Allan stepped forward. "My Lord," he stammered, then seemed to find his voice as he looked up and saw Deirdre at the top of the stairs, looking proudly down at him. "My Lord, Sir Guy 'ad made it clear to both of us that 'e wasn't keen on us bein' together. Deirdre was afraid Guy'd force 'er to marry 'im and we was in love, so we handfasted."

Deirdre came down the stairs and across the hall, accompanied by Marian. She smiled warmly at her husband before glaring at Guy and the sheriff over the prince's head.

"My Lord Prince," Deirdre spoke sharply, gaining the prince's attention.

Prince John smiled at the lady, taken as he had been at their first meeting by her beauty. He could not blame either Sir Guy or the A' Dale fellow for fighting over her. Not only were her features stunning, with her dark blonde hair and her deep blue eyes, but she was blushing prettily at the moment, obviously embarrassed over her forwardness.

"Lady Deirdre, how good of you to join us. We were just discussing the marriage contract. Perhaps you'd be so good as to tell us how and why you came to marry a commoner instead of a landed gentleman?"

Deirdre ducked her head, turning a look of fear first on the prince, then on Guy and the sheriff before moving quickly to stand between her husband and her father. Allan saw what she was about and held her arm, chucking her under the chin; it was all he could do to keep from grinning at her obvious play-acting.

"It's all right, Luv. Say what you mean to say. You're safe with us."

The sheriff's face contorted as the realization of what they were about to do hit him.

"Now see here, My Lord!"

"Sheriff! I believe it is the Lady Deirdre's turn to speak. Go on, My Dear," Prince John added solicitously.

The sheriff subsided, realizing that he may have gone a bit too far. Deirdre smiled at the prince tentatively and then gave her accounting.

"I would be happy to, My Lord. I married Allan A' Dale because he treated me well. My Lord father has always treated me with respect as well, but Sir Guy treated me like a child. He tried to make decisions for me, including backing me into a corner to say I would marry him."

"I did not …" Guy protested.

Deirdre looked to Guy apprehensively. "You did. That day last March when you insisted that we take a walk and we somehow wound up in a deserted section of the castle." She turned back to the prince. "Allan saw us, My Lord—he can confirm that Guy had me literally backed into a corner. Guy was being so forward that Allan thought us already betrothed. I was so terribly frightened for my honor!" Deirdre allowed her lips to tremble ever so slightly and tears to shimmer on her eyelashes.

"Did Allan rescue you then?" The prince directed a black look at Sir Guy. He could not let such actions go unpunished; after all, Deirdre's father was far too important to all of his plans.

"No, My Lord. As I said, Allan believed us to be betrothed and as you've pointed out, Allan is not a nobleman, so he did not see it as his place to tell his master what to do."

Prince John raised an eyebrow, "Pray, continue My Lady."

"Your Highness, I believe Sir Guy realized his mistake, so he let me go."

"Did he indeed?"

"Yes, My Lord Prince. He mostly left me alone after that and I thought that he had discarded his ideas of marriage, but then one day as I was sitting in the garden with Allan at his reading lessons ...."

The prince interrupted. " _You_ were teaching A' Dale to read?"

"Yes, My Lord. Allan wished to better himself, for me, and so I helped him."

Prince John gave a bemused smile to the Lady Deirdre. Not only was she attractive and modest, but kind as well. Damn shame she was already taken. Even worse shame that O'Niall was so important or handfasted vows would have been damned.

Deirdre smiled tentatively at Prince John. "My Lord?"

"We are sorry, my dear. Continue."

Deirdre bit her lip before going on. "As I was saying, Allan and I were in the garden when Sir Guy came up to us. He presented us with the letter you had written, supporting a marriage contract between us. I had fallen in love with Allan long since and had decided to handfast with him until we could be properly married."

"Do you both still wish to have the benefit of a formal ceremony?"

"We do," Deirdre replied, trying to keep the triumph from her voice.

"Aye, My Lord," responded Allan at the same time, sqeezing her hand.

Vasey stepped forward in agitation. "Now see hear! This woman has stolen from me, from you as well, My Lord."

Prince John's face darkened as he turned toward the sheriff.

"How do you mean?"

" _She_ is the little horse thief who stole the stallion I was to give you last year  _and_  she stole money from me as well!"

The prince looked unbelieving at Deirdre. "This slip of a girl is the one who stole a horse from your stables, led your men a merry chase and then escaped from your dungeons? Come now, Vasey, what proof have you?"

Vasey's smile dripped with malice as he turned toward Deirdre. "There was a certain jeweled dagger the thief took with her that night. I believe the Lady Deirdre has it on her person and if you search her you will find it."

Deirdre looked in wide-eyed horror at the sheriff and moved closer to the prince.

"My Lord, surely you would not do me such dishonor!"

There was a commotion at the top of the stairs as one of Fàelàn's guards hurried down the stairs, flanked by the royal guards and then the sheriff's men.

"My Lords, pardon the intrusion, but is this the dagger you are speaking of?"

Vasey's smile held pure satisfaction as he responded, "That's the one." He had known that if they just searched a little harder, his guards would find the dagger amongst Deirdre's things. To have it be one of her guards who had found it just made it all the better.

The guard bowed low and handed the dagger to the prince, who asked, "Where did you find this?"

"My Lord Prince, we found it in the sheriff's chambers."

" _What?_ " Vasey exploded.

The guard looked nervous, but spoke. "My Lord Sheriff, it seemed only fair, after you had us search the Lady Deirdre's things, that we should look in your chambers just to be sure that you hadn't misplaced it. It was behind the canopy of your bed, lying on the floor. You must have thrown it there that night in anger and then forgotten about it."

"I never … and then I never saw it again in all these months?"

"My Lord, it was difficult to find. We actually had to move the bed as it was between the bed and the wall. Your men and the prince's can verify that I speak the truth."

The sheriff and the prince looked to the other guards, who nodded.

"But what of the coins she stole not one month ago?"

"What say you, Lady Deirdre?"

"My Lord, I travel with a lot of money. My Lord father can tell you that I simply love to shop." The prince looked to Fàelàn, who nodded grimly. "In fact, one of my first days in Nottingham, I took the Lady Marian and Allan shopping with me. I fear I wore them out."

Marian, who had been standing in the background, nodded as well and Allan raised his eyebrows eloquently as he nodded agreement.

"Is it my fault if some of Nottingham's coins were mixed in with my own, given to me in change for purchases or for the  _rent_  the sheriff charged me to stay here until my father could come and fetch me safely home?"

Deirdre had ever so slightly emphasized the word "rent" but Prince John was no fool and caught it immediately, his eyes widened in anger. "You did  _what_ , Sheriff?"

"The Lady insisted on paying rent."

"Only when it looked like you were going to kick me out to take my chances on the road. We would have frozen to death before we made it home." Deirdre thought to herself,  _I hope the prince doesn't catch on and ask how we made it to Nottingham in the first place if that were the case._

Her luck held, and John was tight-lipped as he responded to Vasey. "Sheriff, you will pay every coin back to the Lady Deirdre as a wedding present and the next time the daughter of one of our retinue graces your doorstep, you will treat her with respect."

Vasey inclined his head respectfully, his anger held carefully in check, and decided to move away from the edge of the cliff he and Guy were standing on, the cliff whose edges were beginning to crumble quickly. Prince John seemed to trust O'Niall even more than any of them had suspected and had been completely taken in by Deirdre's little act. Gisbourne, dense as ever, protested.

"But My Lord Prince, what of my contract, the one you yourself approved?"

"Sir Guy of Gisbourne, you will be lucky to walk away with your  _life_  after the way you misled us and mistreated the daughter of one of our most loyal advisors."

Vasey decided now was not the time to mention that they had locked her in the dungeons for a week.

"Prince John?" Deirdre had stepped forward and put her hand on the prince's arm.

The prince looked at her hand, nonplussed. She was a brave one, this daughter of Fàelàn O'Niall. Pretty and brave. Too bad he was about to give her to the A' Dale fellow; he would have liked to have spent some time with her himself.

"Lady Deirdre?"

"My Lord, please spare Sir Guy."

"And why should we do that?"

"Because I should not like to have it on my conscience that a man suffered because of me. He fancied me and was a little too fervent in his pursuit. It is over now and he has lost. Is that not punishment enough?"

Prince John smiled at her. "You are as gentle as you are comely, Lady Deirdre. Indeed, losing one such as you is punishment enough. We shall grant your request. Fàelàn?"

Fàelàn had stood by, ready to jump in as needed, but had found his help to be unnecessary. He had wanted the sheriff punished for locking Deirdre up, but seeing the man squirm on the hook his daughter had so neatly created was amusing him. Besides, the prince looked to be very much leaning toward their side and Fàelàn saw no need to confuse the issue any further.

"My Lord Prince?"

"Fàelàn, you were smart to keep your daughter away from our court—we should have long since tried to make her our princess. Do you consent to this marriage between your daughter and Allan A' Dale?"

"I do, My Lord."

"Then have the banns read. They shall be married forthwith. We have wasted far too much time on this business already."

"Begging your pardon, My Lord, but we should like to have the ceremony at Dun Aisling, so that Deirdre's mother may attend."

"Then have another ceremony for the mother; these two shall be married immediately so that we may concentrate on other matters." John's patience with the matter seemed to be at an end and Fàelàn did not want to push their luck.

"As you wish, My Lord. We shall have the banns read immediately. The ceremony shall take place tomorrow evening?"

"Tonight Fàelàn. Directly before the evening meal." With that, the prince dismissed them all.

 


	47. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You would think that getting married officially would make Deirdre & Allan safe, wouldn't you? But Guy & the sheriff are nothing if not vindictive.

Chapter Forty-Seven: The Wedding

Fàelàn went immediately to speak with the priest—the sooner the children were married, the sooner they could leave this wretched place. By nightfall, all was in readiness. All Nottingham had turned out at the prince's order, friend and foe alike. The common folk, who were not allowed inside on such a momentous occasion, milled about outside, hoping to see the kind Lady Deirdre marry one of their own. The story of their romance and handfasting had spread quickly through the town and had the women sighing. Allan A' Dale had been despised by much of the peasantry until they had learned of his relationship with the Lady Deirdre; if she saw good in him, he could not be all bad.

Vasey and Guy stood with the prince at his behest, both looking distinctly uncomfortable. Vasey had tried to speak with the prince before the wedding, but the man had been adamant about not being disturbed, thinking the sheriff was just angry about losing. Vasey stifled a yawn to the prince's irritation and Guy glared daggers at Allan, who stood at the front of the church with Martin acting as his best man. There was a commotion at the door and then Marian walked in. Suddenly, all was silent as Deirdre stood there with her father, framed by the torches and the candles.

Allan looked like he was going to faint, and behind him the guard Robert leaned in and spoke softly, "Steady Allan. The gang and I are all here for you." Robin's blue eyes peered at Allan from behind Robert's helm, the laughter in them betraying his amusement at Allan's nervousness.

Allan watched as Deirdre walked up the aisle with her father, growing more and more anxious by the minute; it wasn't until Fàelàn placed her hand in his that he calmed down.

The priest intoned the ritual words that would bind them together for life. When he got to the part about "to love, honor and obey," Allan's eyes went wide and he gave Deirdre a nearly imperceptible shake of the head as she hesitated, grinning lopsidedly at him from under the veil. She sighed in mock annoyance, before letting Allan off the hook.

"I do."

That was all—no qualifiers. Allan sighed in relief before declaring his own intentions and before long, she was finally, officially, his wife. The rest of the evening was a blur as they left the church to return to the castle. The evening meal had become their wedding feast and somehow, performers had even shown up. They left the hall after supper to the cheers and raucous calls of all save two.

* * *

Alone in their room, Allan's lips met the warm, inviting lips of his wife; she melted against him and her arms slipped around him as she rubbed the small of his back, one of the few spots left relatively unscathed by the torturer’s instruments. As they broke apart, Allan smiled wickedly at her.

"You know, I coulda sworn I heard you promise to obey me."

"Obviously, there's something wrong with your ears. The prince has had me wed to a broken man."

"I don't think so, Luv." He nuzzled her neck. “All the important bits are workin’ fine.”

Deirdre pushed against his chest, slapping him in make-believe shock. "Allan A’Dale! But I might've maybe agreed to something similar to that. Possibly. I was under a lot of pressure."

"You were, eh?" Allan asked.

"Well, the prince seemed determined that I would marry  _somebody_ , and if I didn't marry you, he might've given me to Guy or someone equally as loathsome."

"So I was the lesser of two evils?"

"Sort of. Well, that and I love you."

Allan grinned. "So you'll be obeyin' me from now on."

"Yes," Deirdre paused. "When you ask me to do something that makes sense."

"So if I were to tell you to kiss me again … ?"

"If you were to  _ask_  me, that would make sense."

"Just kiss me, you stubborn Irishwoman!" Allan grinned, lowering his mouth to catch her lips again. Deirdre, for once, did as she was told.

* * *

Later that night, when the prince was suitably calmed down from seeing his orders carried out and imbibing an enormous quantity of wine, Sheriff Vasey decided to give it one more try. He had one more card to play, but due to Prince John's temper, had left it alone earlier. The prince could always have the marriage annulled, and Deirdre could still be Guy's wife or he could get so angry he would demand Deirdre's death; either way, Vasey would be satisfied. He knocked on the door to the prince's chambers and was immediately called to come in, Guy shadowing him.

"Just put it on the table," slurred the inebriated prince. He was too busy with the woman on his lap to even see who had come in. Luckily for him, his guards at the door knew who to let in and who not.

The sheriff bowed low. "My Lord, I am sorry to disturb you, but there are things of which you should be made aware."

Prince John blinked over at the little bald man who had entered. "You're not the servant with more wine."

Vasey smiled as patiently as possible. "No, My Lord. It's Sheriff Vasey. And Guy of Gisbourne. We need to talk."

John nuzzled the neck of the girl in his lap. "Go on, Sheriff."

When the sheriff hesitated, looking meaningfully at the girl, Prince John glared at him. " _Go on_ , Sheriff."

"My Lord, do you know who Allan A' Dale is?"

The prince looked confused, mouthing the name over a few times. "Is he not the man I've seen married tonight to Fàelàn O'Niall's daughter? Lovely girl, that. Shame. I'd have rather had her in  _my_  chambers tonight. Do you think we should bring back the rights of First Night?"

"My Lord!" The sheriff spoke more sharply than he had intended, but it had the desired effect, as the prince shook his head and paid attention to him once more.

"My Lord," Vasey continued quickly, before the prince could latch on to the fact that his underling had just yelled at him, "Allan A' Dale was one of Robin Hood's men."

"What? But you said he worked here, in the castle, that he was Gisbourne's man."

"Yes, well that was after Gisbourne got him to betray Robin Hood and Robin Hood threw him out. But what if Robin Hood  _didn't_  throw him out? Not long ago, Deirdre disappeared from her rooms. Gisbourne and I suspected that Allan had something to do with her disappearance and were … questioning … Allan with the help of Letum."

The prince raised his eyebrows at the mention of the torturer's name. "Letum? The torturer? That man is an artist.” He turned back to the woman in his lap, pulling the top tie on her dress loose, continuing to unlace the rest clumsily. _Why is it always so much harder to get to a woman’s breasts when I’m in my cups?_ “So what happened?” he asked the woman’s chest. “How is he here now, hale and able to stand before a priest and be married?"

"That is exactly what we were wondering. Allan was … released … a week or so ago by Deirdre. She killed Letum with the dagger that the guards later said they found in my chambers. She had help from five men who had knocked out my guards and locked them in a cell so that they could use my men's uniforms. Five men. There are five men that we know are in Robin Hood's gang. Actually four men and one woman—a Saracen." Vasey watched as that information took hold in the prince's muddled brain.

The prince turned his head slowly back to the sheriff, resting his hand on the girl’s bosom. "Where has Allan been all this time? Where has Deirdre been?" Prince John asked in confusion.

"Exactly what we were wondering, My Lord. Perhaps they were with …." Vasey let the sentence hang in the air.

Prince John blinked, his head nodding slightly as he tried to keep the room steady. "Robin Hood," he finally finished. He jumped from the chair, knocking the woman to the floor. "Vasey! I want them … I want …."

"My Lord?"

The prince blinked once and collapsed back in his chair. His eyes closed immediately and he began snoring. The woman scuttled out of the room as the sheriff and Guy tried to wake their prince.

* * *

Katy ran from the prince's chambers, relieved that she had escaped being thoroughly ravished by him. The information she had overheard disturbed her. Katy had not liked Allan at first, angry with him for his betrayal of Robin Hood. But if what the sheriff had said was true, then Allan had either been forgiven by Robin or been a spy for Robin all along. Coupled with the fact that the Lady Deirdre loved him so much, he could not be all that bad. Katy decided to do what she could right then and hurried to Allan and Deirdre's room.

* * *

Allan and Deirdre collapsed in each other's arms, warm and feeling relatively safe in the big bed until the knock on the door and the urgency in Robin's voice brought them to alert. They dressed quickly, opening the door and Robin slipped in leading a brown-haired maid.

"Katy has something she needs to tell you. We need to leave. Now." He nodded toward Katy and she began to speak.

"I was in the prince's chambers when the sheriff and Lord Gisbourne came in. They told the prince about Allan's past and about how Lady Deirdre rescued him and killed the torturer with the sheriff’s jeweled dagger. Luckily the prince passed out from too much wine, but not before he guessed where you were while you were healing. You are in terrible danger. You should leave now."

Allan and Deirdre had both paled as Katy spoke and were quickly packing their few things to make a break for it.

"You should come with us," Robin spoke to Katy. "They will know who warned us." The maid nodded her head, biting her lip, and waited with the men while Deirdre grabbed parchment and ink and began writing, despite the urgings of the others.

"I have to let them know that my father had nothing to do with this or his life, and my family's, will be forfeit."

Allan and Robin fidgeted, but left her alone while she finished. Once she had left the paper on the table, they made their way silently from the castle to the town, dodging guards.

* * *

It was near midnight when they reached the safety of Sherwood and the camp. No one could sleep, so Robin sent Katy with Little John to Scarborough, where she would be safe. Much busied himself with making a fire, Will was showing Djaq how to whittle wood, Robin and Allan talked by the new-made fire, and Deirdre paced restlessly.

Allan had tried to calm her, but Deirdre refused his attentions, so he'd gone back to sit by the fire with Robin and Much. In the small hours of the morning, Much, Will, and Djaq all retired to their bedrolls; Robin kept Allan company while he waited for Deirdre to settle. The two men watched Deirdre out of the corner of their eyes as they waited in silence; soon, she began to stumble. Allan got up and spoke a few words to her softly; she nodded her head and soon the two were settling down on their bedrolls. Robin banked the fire and was soon asleep himself.

* * *

Dawn broke, a dreary day of rain and clouds that softened the edges of everything and made the morning chill sink deeper into the bones of the men and woman huddled around the fire. Deirdre soon awoke as well, held close in her husband's arms. Allan smiled a small smile and kissed her on her forehead.

"Mornin', Luv."

Deirdre tried to smile back, but fear for her father had her stomach heaving. The very smell of the food Much was preparing only made it worse. She and Allan sat up, but as Allan made his way over to get breakfast, Deirdre stumbled in the opposite direction. Allan followed, concerned to find her being sick a little way off, and hurried quickly to her side.

"You all right?"

Deirdre swallowed and nodded her head. "I'm just worried, is all." The butterflies just wouldn't seem to stop fluttering in her stomach.

Allan already had a cup of mead in his hand that he had forgotten to put down in the camp and he offered it to Deirdre so she could clean the taste out of her mouth. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled gratefully.

"Thanks."

"Listen, I'm sure everythin'll sort itself. You'll see."

"But what if it doesn't Allan? What if the sheriff finds the note and destroys it? I should've left it with Martin or slipped it under the prince's door or …."

Allan stopped her with a finger to her lips. "You would've gotten caught. And that would've done no one any good. How do you think your da would feel if the prince executed you? It's better this way. He'll be fine."

Deirdre melted into Allan's open arms and he held her close.

"I hope you're right, Allan. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to my family because of me."

 


	48. Outlawed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This, the final chapter of "The Thief" finds Fàelàn having to make a decision no parent ever should have to--to sacrifice one child for the lives of the rest of his family.

Chapter Forty-Eight: Outlawed

It rained all day, drizzles interspersing with downpours. No one in the camp was happy, although Deirdre seemed to regain some color as the day wore on. She paced nervously though, and since Allan would not let her out of the camp after her earlier bout of illness and a later claim of dizziness, everyone was on edge. Will had been sent, gratefully, to town to find out what he could.

* * *

Fàelàn awoke to rain, and the prince storming into his chambers.

"My Lord O’Niall, what do you know of your daughter's activities?" Prince John demanded.

Fàelàn rose, donning his robe slowly as he spoke, keeping his voice steady. The prince only called him by his title when he was truly angry, and the best way to calm the prince’s temper was to lead by example. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Your Highness. I don't know what you mean."

"Your daughter. Her new husband, Allan A' Dale. Did you know that he was one of Robin Hood's men?"

Fàelàn feigned surprise. "Who gave you this information, if I may ask, Your Highness?"

"Does it matter, My Lord? The man is a confirmed member of Robin Hood's gang."

"But he was working here at the castle when Deirdre met him. How could that be?” Fàelàn drew his brows down in consternation. “He was working for Sir Guy, was he not?"

"Did you know that your daughter disappeared from the castle a few weeks ago? Gisbourne had reason to believe that A’Dale had done her harm and so he had the man tortured to try to save your daughter. It turns out, she was in on it the whole time! She has consorted with outlaws, stolen from the sheriff and from her prince, and lied to us as well. She will answer for her crimes."

"But …."

"O’Niall, you are either with us or against us."

Fàelàn closed his eyes. He loved Deirdre more than life and if it was just his life he risked by supporting her, he would do it in a heartbeat, but this was bigger than just Deirdre, bigger than the O'Niall clan even.

He opened his eyes and met the prince’s. "I am with you, My Lord Prince."

Prince John smiled. "Good. I know it is difficult to have family that you cannot trust, but you made the right decision. My men are at her chambers to arrest her as we speak."

Fàelàn's face was ashen as he collapsed in his chair.

Martin came running in, falling to his knees before O’Niall’s chair. "Mo Tiarna! Say it isn't true!"

One look at his lord's face turned Martin's own pallor to gray.

A few minutes that seemed to cost a lifetime later, two of Prince John's guards came in; the lead guard held a folded piece of parchment in his hand. "My Lord, neither Lady Deirdre nor Allan A' Dale were in the room. We found this on the table."

Prince John snatched the paper from his man, opening and reading it.

"Your daughter says that you knew nothing of her escapades, that she was afraid you would disown her if you knew."

The prince handed the letter to Fàelàn, who read the words Deirdre had written to proclaim his innocence. He knew she had done what she had to in order to save him and the rest of her family.

"And so you shall, am I correct O’Niall?"

Fàelàn swallowed and looked miserably at his prince, at the man who could have his entire family killed on a whim, and knew what he had to do, no matter how much it hurt.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Fàelàn, no!" Martin was beside himself with anxiety, so heartbroken that he forgot to address his lord properly in front of the prince.

O'Niall looked desolately at his man, his brother of the soul. "I must, Martin. What Deirdre has done …" he allowed his voice to become tinged with anger, "and after all I have done for her, after I have been so patient with her denying one suitor after another, and now  _this_. She has betrayed the prince and shamed me before him. She is disowned from this day forward. She shall not have the comfort of my home, my family, my lands, or my wealth."

"Very good, Fàelàn." Prince John turned to his scribe. "From this day forward, let it be known, that Deirdre A' Dale, formerly O'Niall, shall have a price on her head of £30.”

O’Niall’s head snapped up and he nearly rose from his chair. Such a large sum! A peasant family could feed themselves for years to come for that much. She would be hunted everywhere. The prince looked at him, raising one russet brow, and Fàelàn subsided.

The prince continued. “Let it also be known that this same Deirdre A' Dale, having betrayed her prince, has been disowned, and shall never again, on pain of death, set foot on O'Niall lands. Any who take her in and offer her aid or comfort shall share her fate."

The scribe nodded his head and left once he had finished his writing.

"Fàelàn, I shall expect you to be ready to leave with me in three days. I shall send troops to your home to bring Deirdre to justice if she is there." With that, Prince John left.

Martin turned immediately on his friend.

"What have you done?"

"What I had to, Martin, and you know it, so does Deirdre-that's why she wrote it in the note. If I had not disowned her, the prince's troops would be going to destroy my family and seize my lands, while you and I would be rotting in a prison cell right now, awaiting the executioner."

Martin reached for the note; scanning it quickly. He closed his eyes, realizing Fàelàn was right, but still not happy with the decision.

"We must warn Deirdre, at least."

"And just how shall we do that, Martin? You know we will be watched. Any attempt to warn her and all will be forfeit. Deirdre knows something is wrong, or she would have been in her room; her note was a warning to me. We must trust to God that all will be well."

* * *

Will did not look happy as he delivered the news he had heard in town earlier.

"It's being said that …."

Deirdre looked ready to strangle him; she had already had enough of his balking when it came to giving out news.

"Will, just  _say_  it already, for the love of God!"

The gang looked at her in shock and Will blinked before quickly speaking.

"You're outlaws."

At his words, Allan looked at him askance.

" _Both_  of you now. The prince has put a price on your heads."

"My father, Martin, the men?" Deirdre asked anxiously.

"It seems that since your father disowned you, the prince still believes him to be loyal."

"Good." Deirdre visibly relaxed, nodding her head as the gang looked on in consternation.

"I'm not bein' funny, Luv, but your da disowns you, the prince puts a price on your head, and all you can say is 'good'?"

"Yes. I knew that he would be in trouble with Prince John, and that my family's lives would be in jeopardy, unless he disowned me. I actually told him he should in the letter."

Allan just looked at her with one eyebrow raised. He loved his wife, but sometimes, he thought she was one slice short of a full pie.

"So what happens now?" Much asked nervously.

"We go on as we always have," Robin answered.

"And what of Deirdre and Allan?" Much was looking dubiously at the couple in question.

"What of them?"

"Well, Deirdre is, you know. She's a woman."

"So am I!" exclaimed Djaq.

"Well, yes, but you're one of the lads." Much didn't notice Djaq's glare. "Deirdre's different. She's a lady. And besides, she and Allan are married. Won't that be … awkward?"

Allan grinned hugely at his wife, wiggling his eyebrows. "If it makes you that jealous, Much, I'll give you a little kiss now and again."

The gang burst out laughing as Allan turned toward Much with his arms out, making kissing noises and Much ran to hide behind Little John in horror. Deirdre placed her hand on Allan's shoulder.

" _I'll_ be the one who's jealous if you're kissing anyone but me." With that she leaned up and kissed him, surprising Allan with her boldness when she was usually embarrassed in front of the others. He shrugged and turned fully toward her, the better to deepen the kiss and wrap her in his arms as the gang looked on wearing huge grins.

* * *

~*~ THE END ~*~ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: "Well Folks, there it is—"The Thief" en toto. Please let me know what you think of not only this chap, but the story as a whole. I just hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. "The Thief" was a chance for me to get back to my real love—writing, creating stories; and while I have used characters that belong to the BBC and Tiger Aspect, this story has given me the self-assurance and courage to continue on with stories of my own that were begun and never finished. Thank you so much for your kind—sometimes insightful and sometimes downright angry—reviews, which have also fueled the fire of my confidence. Given the choice between apathy and anger, I'll take anger! Hope to see many of you reviewing my other works, including the rated "M" sequel, "Den of Thieves" due to begin posting by March 7, 2009."
> 
> The above author's note was obviously written when I first posted "The Thief" to fan fiction dot net many years ago. This has been a busy year of editing and reposting this storyfrom that site to this one. This has also been a busy year on the personal front, with the birth of our first granddaughter, mine & hubby's 25th wedding anniversary, and all of life's usual curve balls. I was going to remove the old author's note and replace it with a new one, but as I was making myself sit down to post this and wondering if I ought to just give up writing, at least for a time, my words of 10 years ago reminded me of the love I have for the process, even if it is painful and painfully slow at times. 
> 
> At any rate, thank you to all who have been reading, and the few who have commented. It was a process--sometimes fun, sometimes work, sometimes cringe-worthy--to edit this story, my first novel-length fiction ever written and completed, and to offer it to you all here. "Den of Thieves" has been partially edited and I will begin posting that here after the first of the year. Whatever holiday(s) you celebrate over the coming weeks, I wish you peace and happiness.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Whytewytch


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